


The Path

by Lurkete



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant to a Point, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreamscapes, F/F, Happy Ending, Night Wisps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurkete/pseuds/Lurkete
Summary: "Cara is really happy that the Night Wisp survived, but she doesn't know how to express it. Then, in the middle of the night, Kahlan feels someone snuggling with her..."This fic started from the above prompt and got a bit out of hand from there :)High rating and warnings for later chapters.





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kahaln's POV

It's the first morning in as long as she can remember where she wakes up feeling excellent.  
  
Not just good, not just rested. _Excellent_.  
  
Her eyes are still closed but she can feel the sun tickling that spot on her nose, gentle beams heavy and caressing on the top of her eyelids. The air smells alive, it nudges her still sleepy mind into conjuring an old memory of farmers clearing out wild green vegetation for a new field on a pleasant summer day when she was younger, the farmers stopping their work to stretch and smile and wave at her and Dennee as the two of them ride by on their horses at a lazy four-beat gait.  
  
She feels loved.  
  
It’s an odd determination and she pauses to think of why she came up with it. Unhurriedly she moves her perception from her face to the rest of her body, exploring, trying to find the cause of this feeling.  
  
It’s not that she regularly feels un-loved; she thinks few people have the sensation of actively feeling unloved - or loved for that matter - over any extended and consistent period of time, rather these are feelings that spike between long stretches of feeling busy.  
  
She senses a shadow falling over her before she has finished her thought or properly taken stock of the rest of her body, and she realizes that it must be much later in the day than when she usually awakens.  
  
She opens her eyes.  
  
Richard is crouching over her balancing on the balls of his feet, elbows on knees, the sun behind him haloing his head, a cup of tea in one hand, wearing an expression that she just cannot define. So she tries harder, but she still thinks she has never seen that look on his face.

She furrows her brow and moves her gaze behind him to where Zedd is sitting by the campfire stirring last night’s embers with a stick. He is looking at her as well, his expression relaxed yet clearly focused - not staring so much as highly curious. It is odd to open your eyes to a crowd, and she realizes that they are both waiting for her to do something.  
  
It is when she tries to rise to her elbow - a question on her tongue for the both of them - that she realizes that something is holding her down, or rather someone. She twists her neck to look behind her and there is Cara, glued to her back with her face burrowed between Kahlan's shoulder blades, deeply, deeply asleep.  
  
Both her eyebrows rise.  
  
She looks back at Richard still crouching very close, still with her morning tea in his hand, his other close to his mouth, a forefinger pressed to his lip in the universal sign for quiet. It takes a couple of minutes to cautiously wiggle out of the embrace. Cara does not stir.  
  
Kahlan helps pack up the camp and load the horses with the others. Around noon Zedd awakens Cara. She is furious that he did not wake her up sooner; her flush of embarrassment at sleeping in does not fade away for quite a while.

 

The next morning it happens again. Richard once more wakes her with his presence and a cup of tea, he still looks like he doesn’t know what expression he should wear but she gets the sense that he is slowly settling on _amused_ , she smiles back. Zedd is already packing the horses.  
  
This time Zedd rouses Cara early enough that she does not feel as if she has been cheated out of her dignity, though the blond still does not seem to realize that she is waking up more on Kahlan's bedroll than her own.  
  
This goes on for a week. The first couple of days there are a few moments every morning where the atmosphere in their little camp ranges between apprehension and curiosity, when they all expect Cara to wake up and realize that she has completely wrapped herself around Kahlan during the night. But by the end of the week the tension has for some reason dissipated and her morning ritual of gently wiggling out of a dead-to-the-world Cara’s embrace has become just that – a ritual.  
  
They joke about it when the two of them, Kahlan and Richard, are out to gather firewood one night. Richard confesses that at this point he feels an urge to kiss Cara’s temple as if she were a child after every time Kahlan manages to successfully free herself from her morning embrace. They spend the walk back to camp guffawing and thinking up elaborate scenarios of how badly and in which manner Cara would hurt him if she were ever to wake up to that.  
  
When they reach the camp they conspicuously quiet down, both unable to avoid looking for a moment at Cara before tearing their gazes away. Cara gets a suspicious look on her face and spends her evening glaring at them challengingly. When it is time to settle for the night she rises with a frustrated huff and wordlessly claims the first watch - her glaring has been utterly ineffectual tonight; her once mighty stare has been met with nothing but fond looks and smiles by all of them.

  
  
On the third night of the second week since first Cara had started snuggling up to Kahlan, in the deepest hour of the night - when even the bugs stop humming - they get attacked by a dozen cutthroats.  
  
Desperate, these bandits are smarter than the average thief and have waited for this dead hour to spring their assault. What they have not counted on is a Wizard of the First Order keeping watch. Zedd’s loud and glowing ring of impulse is not as concentrated or as lethal as his fireballs, but it has the benefit of repelling the bandits in a 360 degree radius as well as instantly waking up all those who slumbered.  
  
The battle is short, even with the bandits’ superior numbers and better-than-usual tactics, their assailants are no match for the sheer amount of battle experience that their company has accumulated both individually and working together as a team.  
  
They spend what's little left of the night hauling bodies for Zedd to burn while sending sideways glances at Cara, waiting for her to give them a cue as to how things are going to be with her from now on. It is clear from her introverted disposition and the way she just fought that Cara has been utterly baffled by the position in which she had found herself when waking up.

 

The rest of the day Cara moves between looking angry, distant, lost, embarrassed, and aggressively pensive, but mostly angry and distant. Richard and Kahlan share worried looks over Cara, while Zedd’s eyes calmly advise them to relax; this is Cara after all and there is nothing unexpected about her reaction. Kahlan marvels at how much he can communicate with a lifting of an eyebrow and the smallest upward twitch of the corner of his mouth.  
  
Cara doesn’t snuggle up to her the next night or the one after that, it is clear to all of them that she is remaining half awake to assure this. Zedd compels them to remain patient, and they both take a deep breath and submit to his wisdom. It does not prevent Kahlan from feeling Cara’s loss as if it was a physical caress at her back.

  
  
On the third morning since the attack Cara is extra grumpy, looking frustrated with her inability to force the situation into a box - a classification in her mind - that is in alignment with how the world and a Mord’Sith should _be_.

By midday they take a break by the side of the road. They are on a high pass overlooking a magnificent view of a quiet valley. The sun is warm and there is a perfect gentle breeze, the air is so clear that Kahlan imagines she can see the most minute details on the farthest mountain ridge.  
  
She spots Cara leaning on a boulder by the side of the road, eyebrows furrowed, mouth twisted in contemplation, hair gently moving in the breeze. She is gazing over the beauty of the valley though it is clear that she is not seeing any of it. Kahlan settles herself on the rock next to her and takes her time observing her. She looks edgy and thoughtful and stubborn and beautiful. She cannot help but smile when Cara truly does not seem to acknowledge her presence, so lost is she in her thoughts, so comfortable is her subconscious with Kahlan's presence.  
  
Kahlan kisses her cheek.  
  
“Why did you do that?” Cara is so startled she forgets to be angry.  
  
“Because I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara's POV

Lately, she’s been dreaming of trees. It is disturbing.  
  
It is not just the fact that she has started dreaming _at all,_  or that she does not remember anything but the trees in her dreams (though she is positive that there is more to them), Nor is it that not being able to remember is now added to the growing list of things she cannot or is not allowed to control anymore.  
  
No, the thing that is bothering her the most is: why trees?  
  
She doesn’t love them; she doesn’t hate them - she just doesn’t care. What would possess her sleeping mind to dream of trees?  
  
On top of that, ever since the dreams started, her sleep has become so sound that about a week ago she actually slept in until noon. She had been mortified and had lashed out at Zedd when he finally got around to waking her up - another loss of control. Zedd assured her that she was not under the spell of some _powerful magic_. She took him aside and had him check and make sure anyways.  
  
She has been feeling odd since the dreams started, more energetic yet more calm, focused - like the feeling one gets in the exact instance you shift your awareness from deep thought, or a book, or a battle map - and into the immediate world around. It is as if her mind is sharper, quicker. She feels capable.  
  
Not that she was not capable before - she looks around the camp - probably more than the rest of these clowns put together.  
  
Earlier Richard and Kahlan came back from scavenging for firewood, giggling like school girls. They took one look at her and quieted down. It wouldn’t have bothered her if Zedd hadn’t given them an admonishing look and then sent an apologetic one to her. Why was he apologizing for their behavior? That would imply that they did something wrong, that they had wronged _her_.  
  
Her hackles had risen. Were they still mocking her for sleeping in? True, so far she has always been the first to rise, but she also always mans her watch at night a bit longer than them, hunts for their food, carries the heaviest backpacks. She is Mord’Sith, she is incapable of being lazy. If there had been no added benefit she would never let herself sleep so soundly, but this deeper slumber has been making her… better, stronger - she can feel it. As such, it is not a luxury but a tactical decision on her behalf, less awareness when she sleeps in return for better performance when she is awake.  
  
She begrudgingly admits to herself that she would not have agreed to the trade-off a few months ago, and though her companions are not Mord’Sith, they have all proven themselves to be decent fighters and responsible guardsmen at night, she… trusts them.  
  
So why are they laughing at her? She glares at the lot of them. Richard looks like he is amused by a secret that he is hoarding to himself, even Zedd has a tinge of superiority to his grin. Kahlan is the worst; she comes over and sits very close as if Cara’s glare is an invitation; she is wearing a look of utter fondness on her face. Cara is horrified to see Kahlan’s hand subconsciously creeping towards her own; she is still staring at Cara, her gaze somehow managing to look both intense and gentle.  
  
They are all mad, the whole lot of them. She rises from her seat before Kahlan’s hand can reach its target and informs them that she is taking first watch. They all smile and thank her, as if she made an offer instead of a statement.  
  


 

***

  
A few days later they are attacked by bandits. Cara wakes up to the sound of Zedd’s magic, he is wise to use a repelling spell that affects all twelve assailants. It gives them time to get their bearings, including Cara. She woke up hugging Kahlan.  
  
She is engaged with three bandits, using her agiels to fence with two of them while staying in constant motion to keep the first two between herself and the third.  
  
Zedd has taken a more protective position and has just knocked down four bandits with stronger magic.  
  
The sound distracts one of her opponents and she lunges for his throat with an agiel. It hits the spot. She knows she is now closer to the second bandit and she grabs his wrist when he swings his sword to attack her. The minute she has his wrist in a firm grip she pulls her agiel from the first bandit’s throat knowing that he is done for, and twists under the arm she is grabbing, ending up behind the second bandit with his arm still twisted in her grasp. He has dropped his sword half way through the maneuver and she is now expecting an attack from her third assailant.  
  
She takes a second to look around. Richard is fighting with the two tougher looking bandits and is in a bad position seeing as how they are flanking him, however he is too far away for her to assist.  
  
Zedd has two of the bandits burning at his feet and the smell is awful. He is engaged with another but the fourth is creeping up behind him. She is about to shout a warning when she sees something shiny streak through the night. One of Kahlan’s daggers is now wedged in his throat. She woke up hugging Kahlan.  
  
She almost gets her spine skewered when her third assailant makes a lunging stab at her with his sword and has to twists her entire body to avoid it, knowing the move will loosen the grip she has on the other bandit’s wrist. Sloppy, very sloppy on her part. She gets angry, and focused, her agiel’s whine crescendos. Her grip tightens on the wrist she is barely holding and her anger allows her to keep the hold when the bandit tries to free himself. She uses her weight as well as the grip on his wrist to switch their positions so he is now doubling as a shield against her final assailant. Once that is done, she wastes no time stabbing him in the stomach and he falls dead within a few seconds.  
  
She turns her attention to her last bandit; over his shoulder she can see Richard has finally managed to maneuver his two attackers to both be in front of him, and she can see Zedd moving in to help him.  
  
She finally gets a good look at Kahlan, and sees that she has dispatched two of her foes and is working on her third.  
  
She woke up hugging Kahlan and she cannot even begin to articulate how much she doesn’t know what to think about it. She realizes she’s been staring at Kahlan when suddenly it is as if time has slowed down. Kahlan’s eyes widen in alarm, her body tightens as if to leap and her mouth opens to shout a warning. Cara spots the tip of a sword rushing towards her head from the corner of her eye. She just barely ducks the jab, crouching low, which gives her a good opportunity to tackle her assailant to the ground. She hopes Kahlan isn’t paying the price for her distraction. She brutally finishes off her last attacker as fast as she can. She looks up to see Kahlan’s last bandit fall to the ground.  
  
Kahlan looks up and gives her the sweetest smile.  
  
This is unacceptable.  
  
The back of her head and the tops of her ears suddenly tingle, the hair on her neck stands up. She has the sense of something colossal bearing down on her from within her own mind. It is a wave - about to crush a tree, the tree from her dream. She suddenly has an explicitly clear image - as if of a memory - of a dam, the biggest dam she has ever envisioned, a dam so big it cannot truly exist. She knows it is about to crack and she knows it will overwhelm everything in its path leaving only a trail of destruction. She can see it in her mind twice at the same time, overlapping - the dam broken and spewing, as well as intact but with cracks slowly growing. She shakes her head. This is unacceptable.  
  
Many months ago she had accepted the fact that the more time she spends under the will of the new Lord Rahl, the less Mord’Sith she will become. She has no choice, he is Rahl. But she now realizes that she was still holding hope that this would happen because he would guide her, teach her, and in his light she would thrive and be shaped into something new, something better. This however, this is simply unacceptable. She refuses to sleep the next couple of days.

 

***

  
  
The first day she cannot think. Obviously, all the heightened focus she has acquired from her newfound deep sleep is gone now that she refuses to slumber, but it seems her regular focus has abandoned her as well. Her mind is jumbled; thoughts scattering at a rapidly increasing rate, she is jumping from topic to topic, the pace too fast to form any sort of cohesive idea, she is not finishing the sentences in her head. So she focuses on her hands holding the reins of her horse.  
  
The second day she cannot think and now she is slipping into a bizarre kind of reflective stupor. She should be alarmed at losing herself in whatever this is that is happening to her, but she has stopped thinking in words even though the pace of her thinking has not slowed. She is curiously unworried.  
  
She touches her agiel and she both feels the pain and doesn't. She grips it fully and tightens her hold. Her muscles are screaming, she clearly acknowledges the pain stabbing like little needles all the way up her elbow, radiating to her shoulder, and now on her neck - on the nape and beneath her ear. She is starting to get a headache. And yet it is all numbed, she both feels the pain and doesn’t.  
  
It is as if her mind has disconnected from her body and her emotions. It has taken a step back, and is now observing everything in a detached sort of way. With no anger, with no surprise, with no rush.  
  
And suddenly this is familiar.  
  
She is in shock.  
  
This used to happen to her at the beginning, when she still wasn’t proficient in compartmentalizing physical pain, and so her body - so exhausted by the sheer physicality of her abuse - instinctively did it for her. She knows this moment of clarity will soon fade, and that she should just relax and ride it out until her body heals. She looks down. Odd, she does not see wounds. She shrugs and goes back to focusing on her hands and the reins.  
  


 

***

  
Day three. She is leaning on a rock by the side of the road overlooking a valley, her arms crossed. Her mind is automatically and dejectedly cataloguing all the different ways an army could set up defenses in it, at the same time she sees an image in her mind’s-eye of the huge wave from the dam crashing through the valley, ripping through everything within it. She is both awake and dreaming.  
  
There is something next to her, it is Kahlan.  
  
Before she can fully turn her head to her, Kahlan kisses her cheek.  
  
Cara wakes up from her three day-haze instantly, like the crack of a whip. Suddenly, she is just so completely there.  
  
"Why did you do that?" comes blurting out of her mouth.  
  
"Because I can."

  
A moment passes.  
  
"You…you kissed me," she says, her voice sounding scandalized to her own ear.  
  
"Uh huh, wasn't it nice?" Kahlan’s smile is too wondrous, and she can sense the wave getting closer. She closes her eyes and tries to quiet it down.  
  
Kahlan squeezes her hand and walks away. Their break is over, time to get back on the horses.

  
  
That night she decides that she will sleep properly, though she makes sure to put her bedroll a safe distance from Kahlan’s.  
  
She cannot fall asleep, an ache is forming in her chest, on the inside, radiating all the way to the backs of her elbows. It is not a physical pain even though she can feel its manifestation physically. It’s like a hole; it is as if one of the ancient wizards used subtractive magic on the concept of embracing. She cannot stand it. She moves her bedroll closer to Kahlan’s. Zedd, who has the current watch, is pretending not to notice, and for the first time she gets an appreciation for the subterfuge known as tact. She falls asleep.

  
  
The next morning Cara wakes up remembering her dream, but she will have time enough for that later.  
  
Kahlan has awakened her. They are both on their sides with Cara behind Kahlan, her arms around her clasped lightly over Kahlan’s belly. The brunette has her own hands over Cara’s, slowly stroking them with her thumbs. Cara can only really feel the one thumb since her right hand is numb from having Kahlan lie on top of it for an unknown amount of time.  
  
"Good morning," she hears Kahlan whisper - softly, as to not wake up the still sleeping Zedd.  
  
Cara thinks that that is really unnecessary since the wizard usually requires a decidedly ungentle kick in order for him to wake. Still, she is happy Kahlan chose to be quiet, she knows that Richard is probably within earshot, calmly patrolling around their little camp.  
  
She likes the idea of having Kahlan a little longer to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cara's POV

The dream starts as a memory.

They are walking briskly - Cara leading, Kahlan chatting with the Wisp.  
  
The creatures’ humming is seriously grating on her patience.  
What is it anyways, an intelligent bug? A fleck of sentient magic? Whatever it is, the noise it produces is incessant and invasive and she can feel her nerves frying and her anger rising.  
She exhales all the air in her lungs, stiffens the muscles of her back and ribs - creating pressure on her chest. It doesn’t work to contain her irritation and she sighs audibly and rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, taking special care to make sure that Kahlan gets her point.  
Kahlan just gives her an unimpressed look and continues cooing at the little thing.

 

The dream shifts.  
  
They are in the woods, it is nighttime and the moon is full and bright painting the forest in monochromes. It is peaceful.  
Richard, Kahlan and Zed are standing to her right a few meters away. She looks down at her hands, the Wisp’s light is dimming and she is suddenly overcome with the sense of urgency.  
“Good luck,” Richard says. She looks up, Kahlan is waving her hand.  
She turns and walks into the night.

 

The dream shifts.

  
The forest is both familiar and not. The sound of her leathers creaking and her footsteps crunching through the underbrush seem superimposed to her ears, maybe it is because everything else is so completely quiet. She looks down it the Wisp and is relieved to see that its light is growing.  
She is getting closer to her destination.

 

The dream shifts once more, though this time it feels more like she is actually present as opposed to a spectator. Her hand moves a branch that is in her way and she faintly acknowledges that the Wisp is gone.  
  
Behind the branch she arrives at a clearing in the forest, in the middle of it stands a massive tree easily three times higher and wider than the rest. Tied to its branches with golden strings are hundreds upon hundreds of beautifully carved wooden boxes, all of them seem to gently glow from within with a yellow-orange light.

 

She is moving closer to the trunk.  
  
Around her are thousands of Wisps, slowly drifting around the tree in a grand circular pattern, gently, as if they are winged achenes floating in the wind.

 

She is under the canopy, about ten meters from the massive roots, when suddenly a sense of danger grips her and she stops. She is aware of something hiding in the shadows, in the mesh of protruding roots - watching her, coiled and ready to spring if she moves closer.

Chancing a look back from where she came, she notices that all the Wisps are gone save one.  
It is shining bright and beckoning in the middle of her vista.

She looks back at the roots, the thing is still there.  
Keeping a wary eye on the shadows she retreats. The farther she moves away, the less she can sense the malevolence until it is all but gone.  
  
She tightens her jaw and walks up to the Wisp.

“I guess this is your doing?” she states.  
  
It remains silent.  
  
“What? No chirping?” she shifts her weight, hands instinctively going to her hips. “Why am I here little bug? Why did you bring me to this place?” her words are angry, agitated. This is not helpful.

The Wisp does not answer and she turns to leave.

“I did not bring you here,” it says from behind her, sounding almost sad. It catches her by surprise; she did not really think it would reply.  
  
  
And suddenly she feels tired, overwhelmed. She turns around.  
  
  
“What is happening to me?”  
  
The Wisp seems to mull over the question.  
  
“It is our ability to connect with others that allows us to connect with ourselves and vice versa, do you understand this Cara?” it asks gently. “This conduit, this road stretches through both territories, it leads outside and it leads in,” its voice is imploring, willing her to comprehend the deeper meaning of the words.

“You have started traveling this path, seeking her out, and by doing so - both destinations have been opened to you. That is how you managed to arrive here, to me and to-”  
  
“Seeking her out? Seeking who out?” She interrupts the Wisp before it can get carried away.  
  
The Wisp pauses and somehow manages to convey a lifting of an eyebrow even though it is shining too brightly for Cara to make out any of its finer features.  
  
_Kahlan_.  
  
The thought enters her mind, simple and perfect in its absoluteness.

Cara stubbornly folds her arms over her breast, she looks at the Wisp and knows she does not need to say the name out loud.

“I thought…I figured it was because of all of you, ever since your birth…my draw to her,” she says, “I know how you Wisps just _adore_ the Mother Confessor,” it comes out sounding defensive even to her own ears.  
  
The Wisp seems to smile, “Do not be ashamed of your pull to her, she is most magnificent, most worthy of notice. But you are right, we Wisps have always loved her. Though it is not something inherent in our nature that makes her so beautiful in our eyes.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“It is her motion…movement, changing…” The Wisp hesitates, Cara can barely see the silhouette of its little head looking down as if deep in thought.

After a moment it looks up, “I am sorry child but there is no word in your tongue for the thing I am trying to tell you.”

Cara senses the importance of what the Wisp is trying to say, so she grits her teeth and remains quiet, letting the little thing find its tongue again, even if it is communicating more in riddles than in words. Her ears perk and her eyes lift back when the Wisp starts talking again.  
  
“It is like the beauty of smoke,” it finally replies.

“Kahlan is like smoke,” Cara repeats in a deadpan tone.

“Yes, no. Her...the inside, the way she controls," the Wisp hums happily, "unique, always different, always changing, harmony, beautiful!”  
  
“Oh”, Cara thinks she understands, “oh,” she says again, “you mean her confessor magic.”  
  
“No, no.” the Wisp seams frustrated, “her…her tree.” it agitatedly points over at Cara’s tree.

Cara shifts her gaze as well, it is still there, large and odd, boxes slightly swaying in the wind.  
She turns back to the Wisp with an eye roll, chin tucked in, head canted to the side, eyebrows raised in a look conveying annoyed disbelief.  
  
“Soooo, Kahlan’s tree is smoke and Wisps find that pretty,” she says.

“Yes,” the Wisp answers with a note of relief.  
  
“I thought Wisps liked trees.”

She just knows it is frowning at her, she can feel it.  
It makes her feel a bit more in control and she smirks, though it doesn’t last long as another thought enters her mind and she frowns.  
  
“So it is something in Kahlan herself that makes her special and other confessors…they don't have it?” she asks, a sliver of worry entering her mind.

“They might," the Wisp answers, "the best usually do, but none so beautiful as your Kahlan.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
And suddenly she is tense, there is something there, in the coming answer. She can hear a familiar noise growing stronger in the background. Water rushing.

She didn’t mean to ask, her mouth formed the question without her consent and she is abruptly reminded that this is a dream. Somewhere else her body is starting to wake but the rumbling of the water distracts her, it is almost deafening now. Closer, closer, gushing.  
  
The Wisp’s gaze is boring into her, its light intensifying painfully,

“Because she is broken so beautifully,” it answers, “because she continues to do so and always will.”  
  
Kara looks up above the tree. The wave is raging and enormous, covering the sky.

 

Her eyes snap open, Silence ringing in her ears.

 

* * *

 

It is later in the day. They are riding through the valley and Cara’s mind is ablaze.  
  
Broken, Kahlan broken.  
  
She chances a sideways glance at the Mother Confessor.

She looks beautiful, proud and tall, her hair long and wild over her back, white dress draped over her large dark horse.  
Shafts of sunlight are piercing the forest canopy they are riding through, highlighting dark tresses when she passes through them.

The entire image looks as if taken from a fairy tale book Cara saw when she was very little. The white lady riding through her lands, splendid and noble.  
  
Broken.

She is just astounded at how she never really thought of this before, how could this be?

She clearly remembers Kahlan telling her about how her father used to tie her hands, how he made her do things against her will, how he used her as a tool to hurt people for his own personal gain.

How old did Kahlan say she was when her mother died? Younger than Cara was when she herself was taken.

She realizes that Kahlan had, in a way, a parallel childhood to her own. Only Khalan was not taken away from her family, from her home, from a place of goodness and kindness to a dark Tower full of fear and Mord’sith. She was not beaten and broken and made intimately acquainted through pain and abuse with the understanding that her former life was _over_ and she is now to become something different, something opposite, something powerful.  
  


_No_ , she eventually decides. Khalan is _not_ broken.

Kahlan does not have the clarity of breaking, because she never was - not properly.  
Instead, she grew up...garbled.

The subtlety of it horrifies Cara.  
  
Kahlan never compartmentalized her pain, never detached herself from it, to be used as a source of power - both magically and mentally the way Cara was trained to be.  
  
There was a _reason_ why Cara was broken, it was to reshape her towards a specific end. It had a purpose. As such it had been done by professionals, teachers and mentors - equipped with experience, facilities, rituals and traditions - an entire sorority of guidance.  
  
Kahlan the child grow up without a parent or mentor to guide her manifesting psyche, and as such had internalized her pain and guilt, merged with them.  
  
It is like an epiphany.

Kahlan has no mental separation from her abuse; it lives in a big room inside her mind with the rest of what makes her Kahlan.

She takes a moment to acknowledge the irony; that it is the _Mord’sith_  in her that riles at the wrongness of such a state, at the lack of focus, at the waste of untapped potential. So unprofessional, so… thuggish. It is beneath a person as impressive as Kahlan to have been treated in such a way.

Not for the first time she tries to wrap her mind around what Kahlan could have been if she had received Mord’sith training.

Cara imagines that the Mother Confessor feels every inch the abuser when she confesses someone. Unlike Cara who - when breaking a new pet - was a tool doing the bidding of her lord and master; unlike Cara who was completely detached from her guilt and her empathy because a chasm was artificially beaten into her, separating her body from her will.

 

She realizes that this is what she sees in Richard’s eyes when he looks at her so earnestly, he expects her to bridge this chasm. She thinks back and realizes that the process had already begun, had started the minute his will as the new Rahl had been asserted over her.

He does not understand that what he is asking of her is just as arrogant, just as self-centered as all the abuse she received from his brother.

She thinks that Richard's wish might- No...Richard's wish _is_ not only breaking her, it is shattering her. She frowns and wonders if he will ever understand that for her to remain Mord’sith is not only beneficial to him, but a kindness to her as well.

Irony strikes again when she detachedly feels her training reassert itself over her, telling her that the will of lord Rahl is her salvation, that her survival is inconsequential, only her obedience.

She thinks she might be feeling sad.

 

She turns her thoughts back to Kahlan.

From what she knows about confessor magic, an intimate connection with the target always manifests, empathy and love are what fuels a confession, and as such some sort of relationship with the victim is unavoidable.  
  
She sighs.  
  
_Empathy_. Could the Mord’sith be guaranteed to be as efficient as they are in protecting their lord Rahl if they did not have that intrinsic human quality removed from them? Of course not. So to have that very quality _be_ the reason you successfully erase another human being, _be_ the weapon you use to gain domination, power, justice. The dichotomy of it is incomprehensible to Cara.  
  
How can Kahlan live with herself? How does she maintain equanimity without her mind shredding its own self to pieces?  
  
She must be a master of her feelings in order to survive. Does she ignore them? Does she reshape them? Does she lie to herself, convincing herself that what she does to her victims is not death, is not worse than death?

No.

Confessors are instruments of truth, it is their purpose; they could not perform their task if they could lie to themselves, especially not Kahlan.  
  
It suddenly occurs to Cara that the Mother Confessor’s threshold for pain might be higher than her own. Just not on a physical level.  
  
There is a click in her head and a new thought enters her mind,  
  
Kahlan could be her mentor, her Mistress.

She could put Cara back together after lord Rahl breaks her.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khalan's POV

Lately, almost everything that Cara does makes her smile.  
  
It's hard to notice when you yourself are smiling excessively. Laughter is audible to one's own ears, but exorbitant smiling is harder to be aware of.  
  
Nevertheless, even with her attention constantly being occupied with important matters such as fighting, marching, surviving, worrying, stressing, and an entire host of other concerns that a world-saving quest would entail - she cannot help be notice that her cheeks have literally started to strain with the pleasant effort of overused muscles.  
  
Her forearms tingle and her torso gives a happy little shiver; she can feel a smile take form on her lips just thinking about it. She sneaks a peak at Cara.  
  
The Mord'sith is absentmindedly talking to the horses while she removes their saddles, complaining about Richard's habit of stopping for every bird they pass and generally telling them about her day.  
  
She wants to hold Cara's hand, or at least give her forearm a squeeze. _Something_ that would convey to the blond how endearing Kahlan finds her to be - her palms are tickling with the desire and she gives them a shake and wipes them on her dress. She does not think the gesture would be welcomed or even properly understood.  
  
She finishes unrolling their sleeping pallets and stands up, spreading her fingers and stretching her arms to the sides as far as they can go and letting out a squeak of contentment at the end. That was a good stretch, now all she needs in order to feel perfect is a bath.  
  
Richard wandered off a few minutes before so she informs Zedd and Cara that she is leaving to take a dip in the nice little brook they passed about half a mile back and suggests that they do the same.  
  
She wonders if Cara wants to join her. The other woman has been so lost in thought the last few days; however, this morning she seemed to snap back to herself - though with an added edge, and Kahlan wants to ask her about it.  
  
It would be a great opportunity to broach the subject if she could just persuade the blond to join her at the stream, since Cara always seems more relaxed when submerged in water. She smiles and thinks that the other woman's love of the decadence is probably a relic from her days of living in a Mord'sith temple equipped with very large and very luxurious hot baths; Kahlan always found it odd that a temple dedicated to pain would house such a soothing and calming amenity.  
  
She looks to Cara with a question on her face, but the blond gives her a wide-eyed look and shakes her head in an almost frightened manner. She can see Zedd grinning under his nose.  
  
Oh well, she smiles again, baby steps.  
  
She collects her gear - brush, mirror, soap, towel, clean shift - and heads out of camp, but not before using her little mirror to catch Cara staring at the back of her head with a confused look on her face. The expression is so endearing that she feels a smile blossoming on her face once again. She really wishes Cara would join her.  
  
For a couple of days now she's been walking around with a giddy sensation in her chest. It almost feels like a separate living thing, young and sweet - like an excited puppy or maybe a ball of sunshine that has been birthed just above her solar plexus and is merrily vibrating, trying to beam its happiness through her ribs.  
  
She knows it's because of Cara - because of the progress the other woman has been making.  
  
The growing pains the Mord'sith has been going through have really started to pay off; she has substituted true impatience with snarky comments and eye rolling, violent rage with controlled frustration, and a frightening edginess and a sense of unpredictability with an air of competence and dependability. Kahlan trusts her with her life.  
  
The brunette so wants to turn around and hug Cara back at night when the blond sneaks onto her bedroll, to tell her that she appreciates the changes that the Mord'sith is going through, that while she cannot _completely_ imagine how difficult it is, she does have a bit of a clue - and that she does not take Cara's efforts for granted.  
So far though, she has yet to gather up the courage to do so less the blond flee again.  
  
When she returns Zedd heeds her advice and saunters off to take his own bath, though spirits know he always manages to retain a certain moldy sent to him. She is about to tell Cara exactly that, but the blond has grabbed their wood axe and started arranging for a large log to be chopped.  
  
Oh well, she thinks disappointedly, better for the Mord'sith to do so before she takes her own bath.  
  
When Richard returns from hunting with a loot of two rabbits and a pheasant, it is already dark and the temperature has dropped too drastically for him to clean himself in the freezing water without fear of getting ill. Instead, he moves his bed roll away, joking that he is so smelly the scent could probably put soot on marble and they are after all so clean and shiny.  
Zedd claims he smells the prettiest.  
  
She has just dived into her bed roll when she realizes that it has gotten much colder than she originally thought and now Kahlan wishes she had grabbed an extra fur pallet from the saddle bags before she settled in.  
  
Zedd is busy drawing his magical protections around the camp and she doesn't want to bother him because of her lack of foresight. She is busy weighing the pros and cons of having to slink out again wearing only her shift to get some extra covering, when Cara promptly dumps a heavy wolf fur on her and scoots her own sleeping roll even closer.  
  
She catches Richard staring at them from his five meters of exile.  
  
But Cara has already wordlessly climbed in behind her, and the heat the other woman is emanating coupled with the extra warmth of the wolf fur is too pleasant and she closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [mudpiegirl](https://mudpiegirl.livejournal.com/).


	5. V

Other than waking up wrapped around Kahlan and finally remembering what she dreamt about, the rest of the day goes without anything more exciting than Richard spotting a rare bird and promptly going into forest-guide mode; and while she could do without a 15-minute lecture about the Sharp Shinned Hawk, it is not enough of a delay to warrant her regular sass.  
  
The spend the rest of the day making good headway towards whatever goal Richard's compass has in mind. By the time they set up camp she almost forgets to feel awkward about the entire team being aware of the fact that she and Kahlan have pretty much been sharing a pallet for the past...unknown...number of nights.  
  
Huh.  
  
She sneaks a suspicious look towards Zed who is pulling out food and cookingware from the bags. He seems pleasantly concentrated on the task while humming an old tone in an off-key scale, looking for all intents and proposes as if nothing is amiss.  
  
She wonders again how long they have all bore witness to her - to this - this oddity.  
  
The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that there is no way she can ask for the answer without the conversation potentially slipping into avenues so unwelcome that her mind cannot even imagine how they'll unfold, let alone contemplate willingly traversing them.  
  
She helps unload the gear from the horses. The clearing they have chosen for the night has enough longish grass that they will not need to search for feed, sure enough the horses start methodically munching while she removes the saddles.  
  
Eventually though, the feeling of not knowing - coupled with repetitively coming up blank with solutions for gleaning the answer to her question - frustrates her to the point where her stomach starts to get upset with the acids of worry.  
  
She is familiar with this sensation; it is the same one she would get when standing with her sisters, full of excited anticipation, tense and ready in the few minutes preceding the start of a grand battle - one that she had been ordered personally to strategize and oversee, and now all that is left is for her people to follow their instructions and not mess up her plan.  
  
Yes, she does not like her aspirations to be dependent on other people.

 

Richard left a few moments ago to go hunt something for dinner. Zed is still tinkering around the fire pit, and Kahlan has just finished setting up all their sleeping pellets.  
  
Cara's stomach sinks and her heart pumps a single painful beat when she notices that Kahlan has already arranged for their bedrolls to be flush against each other.  
  
Before she can say anything, the Mother Confessor stands up and informs them that she is going to take a dip in the stream they passed by a while ago - and that they should do so as well since at this point their collective stench can kill a Gar at 30 paces. She turns her head towards Cara with an 'are you coming' expression on her face.

Cara's eyes go wide while her brow furrows, she shakes her head in small panicked little quivers - which she regrets immediately.  
Kahlan shrugs and leaves. If she noticed that Cara's reaction was a bit excessive she does not let on. Cara sighs and looks over to Zed.  
  
"Zed?"  
  
"Yes, Cara,” he does not look up from his cooking, but Cara just knows that even in his culinary meddling, the sly old goat witnessed the entire interaction.  
  
She does not know what she wants to ask let alone how to ask it, but hesitation is folly and overthinking things has not improved the situation thus far. Plus, Kahlan might be back at any moment.  
  
"Tell me about confessor magic,” she eventually blurts out.  
  
Zed looks up; she thinks the request might have surprised him.

"I don’t know what I could tell you that a Mord’sith does not already know,” he finally answers.  
  
"How..." she starts, "how does it pass - from the confessor to the confessed - does it travel through the blood, through the nervous system?"  
  
“Not exactly,” Zed sits up from the stew he is preparing, he throws in another pinch of salt and then moves to a log that he has set up a little further away from the fire. The aroma that starts wafting from the pot is pleasant.  
  
"In a way there are two types of confession,” he begins, "but both of them essentially use an invisible road - a path if you will, and although this path cannot be perceived in the strictest sense of the word, it is a natural conduit that exists between all people.”  
  
Cara is alarmed at how much Zed's vocabulary echos that of her Wisp.  
  
“When Kahlan confesses a person she _truly_ loves them. The stronger their ability for compassion - the stronger the confessor. Perceivably, every creature capable of empathy - of love - is capable of confession.”  
  
Cara has moved over to sit on the log next to Zed, leaning a bit towards him - palms on knees, legs apart at about shoulder width - giving her a slightly mannish slouch; her attention however is somber and complete.  
  
“The difference of course is _magic_ ,” Zed says grandiloquently.  
  
And Cara thinks that if he were not a wizard Zed would make a great bard. His voice is gravelly, giving all his expositions a sagely quality - dipping low, growing light, emphasizing this part or that - subliminally clarifying to the listener which facets of the tale are important and which are merely build-ups for later.  
  
“When a confessor uses her power in the aggressive way she is essentially hijacking the road, she controls it and forces her essence through the link - like a flash flood in spring expunging a dried out river bank.”  
  
Cara feels the muscles around her eyes tighten and her ears pull back. The image of the wave crashing through the valley and uprooting her tree is suddenly very clear in her mind. Her palms tighten around her knees.  
  
"This is why confessors usually get exhausted following a confession,” Zed continues, not noticing how tense Cara has become.  
  
"Anyway, after all barriers are removed, all mental defenses shattered, the confessed person - for the first time since they were a newborn - feels _Everything_ : magnified and unhindered. And connecting to them on the other side of the cleaned and stripped downed road - shining, loving and benevolent - is their confessor."  
  
His hands slowly spread from a point in front of him all the way to his sides, palms open and parallel to the ground, miming a path.  
  
“Rarely can two people naturally become as intimately close as a confessor and her confessed." He lowers his hands and leans forward, “It is -” he pauses theatrically, “magical.”

He grins, pleased with himself.  
  
Cara is not impressed.  
  
“And this requires touch,” Cara states. “For the conduit to be tapped into,” she clarifies.  
"No, of course not,” Zed says. “The touch of the confessor is required only if she wants to dominate the path, the first way, the aggressive way - so that she can clean it out and shift her essence through it in order to create the link that binds the confessed back to her.”  
  
"But,” he explains, “Even if the road is not walked upon by touch, every person’s path is still available to a confessor - which is why they always know the truth." He pauses. "Well, everyone except the Mord’sith of course."  
  
“Because our path is broken,” she adds.  
  
“Because your path is broken,” he agrees.

 

Kahlan returns from her bath, and Zed goes next.  
  
Cara is forced to spend the next fifteen minutes with a radiant and sweet-smelling Kahlan. She chooses to chop wood.  
  
When Zed returns she leaves without a word; it has already gotten dark but the freezing water is just what she needs.

Richard's bath will have to wait until morning. He pulls his sleeping pallet a ways back out of consideration for everyone else.

 

When they finally settle for the night, Cara is exceptionally aware that everyone else is fastidiously ignoring the fact that she has glued herself to Kahlan's back even before they had fallen asleep.  
  
Richard is trying to air his shirt; Zed is using a stick to draw a big circle around the camp for his magical protection; and Kahlan - though her eyes are closed - is very still in front of her, too still to be anything but acutely conscious, but Cara can still see from her position that the brunette is smiling.  
  
Whatever, she's on a mission tonight - she has questions for her Wisp and Kahlan's presence seems to help her reach her tree.  
  
She almost doesn't notice when she falls asleep.  
  


* * *

  
“So how do I do it? How do I get Kahlan to be my Mistress,” she asks the Wisp.  
  
She is sitting on a largish rock next to a low hanging branch on which the Wisp is perched.  
  
“How do Mord’sith do it?” the Wisp asks her.  
  
“You do not choose a Mistress,” she answers, “she chooses you and then bequeaths you with pain until you submit, until you surrender, until she is Mistress.”  
  
She pauses and then snorts, “I doubt Kahlan has the stomach for _that,_ ” Cara says with no small degree of cockiness.  
  
“Oh? Is she not doing so already?” asks the Wisp. “Remember Cara, we are not talking about the traditions of the Mord’sith, Kahlan will not beat your acquiescence from you. She will wait for you to give it freely.”  
  
Cara narrows her eyes; she can feel her dignity taking up arms, her entire being rebelling against the idea of submitting without a fight.  
  
“Ah, ah. Do not be stubborn child, is this not exactly what you want? What you need?”  
  
She glares at the Wisp. “Okay then, suppose I _agree_ to this; agree to  _willingly_ creating the bond of Mistress and neophyte with Kahlan.” She crosses her hands over her breast. “How would I do it, technically speaking," Cara asks exasperatedly, "again, Kahlan will not harm me, she cannot even confess me without bringing about my death. I cannot submit to her, it is simply not possible.”  
  
She thinks she can feel the Wisp smiling. “Oh, it is possible child.” It rises from the tree and floats closer to her face.

"Know this Cara: while she cannot rip it from you, you are free to enter a bond with Khalan, to initiate a Path.”  
  
Cara uncrosses her arms, fidgets, places them on her hips while worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

“But _how_?”  
  
She just knows the Wisp is smiling at her. “The way all people have initiated bonds since the beginning of time and until the end of all days,” it says.  
  
"Talk to her Cara. Just talk.”  
  
  
She wakes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [mudpiegirl](https://mudpiegirl.livejournal.com/).


	6. VI

The weather has not been kind; it had started drizzling right after breakfast and has not stopped since.  
  
Zedd hates such indecisive weather, if the skies could have put just a little but more effort then they could have all found some shelter from the rain and written the day off. Alas, the troposphere has settled on a depressing grey that is neither here nor there, but is definitely not enough to present them with an excuse for languor.  
  
And so they ride on, miserable and moist.  
  
 _Well_ , he thinks, _definitely moist_.  
As far as miserable - _Some_ of the individuals in his party are not exhibiting the proper amounts of contrariness and acrimony that such moistness should evoke.  
  
Zedd exhales a deep sigh. Kahlan who is riding next to him does not notice one bit.  
  
 _Youth_ , He thinks.  
  
While he is ever grateful to whatever Spirits that have arranged for him and his grandson to partake in the same epic quest (where he can advise and keep a watchful eye on Richard, not to mention just spend time with his own grandson), and while it is a true pleasure and a benefit to have the lovely lady Kahlan Amnell, as well as the less ladylike though not less lovely Cara both be a part of this same epic journey - sometimes he really wishes that the prophecy had chosen slightly older candidates for its enigmatical purposes.  
  
It's not that his charges are immature or overly naive (well, he thinks avuncularly, at least not his girls), it's just that in his experience people that are well into their 40's or those lucky enough to have children tend to acquire a talent for self awareness that their younger counterparts simply do not posses. He reckons such a talent is naturally acquired out of simple necessity, after all - life only has oh-so-much patience for people that don't get comfortable _really_ fast with the concept of lucid interpersonal communication.  
  
He slants his eyes to Kahlan; she's been riding beside him for the better part of the last half hour with her eyes glazed and wearing a silly smile.  
Clearly, she is focused internally on some private thought. He is surprised she hasn't fallen off her horse yet.  
  
It has also not slipped Zedd's notice that the Mother Confessor's gaze, distracted is it may seem to be, has not wavered from staring at Cara's back.  
  
Richard - riding next to Cara a few meters ahead of them - has also caught on to the brunette's dopey behavior and has been twisting back every 5 or so minutes to look at the her with a worried expression on his face.  
  
For her part, Cara has been staring straight ahead the entire time, though looking by how stiff she is holding her posture he suspects that her attention might be just as focused backwards as Richard's.  
  
 _Youth_ , he groans again.  
  
If what he suspects is indeed true than this all might very well end in tears, though he concedes that even without Cara in the picture it was just a matter of time.  
  
Yes, he thinks, it is good that The Spirits have let him tag along with Richard; even The Seeker sometimes just needs a grandfather.  
  
He sighs again. Kahlan remains blithely oblivious.  
  


* * *

  
The skies clear up a bit after the noon meal so they decide to give their horses a break and continue on foot, each person leading their respective horse by the reins. This time Richard and Kahlan are walking in front.  
  
"I miss you," Richard says softly, waking the Confessor from what seems to be a pleasant daydream.  
  
Kahlan turns her head to him with a little frown and a gentle if bemused smile.  
  
"I'm right here Richard," her eyebrows lift, her smile growing even more lovely though her eyes still seem confused. She captures his hand in hers and starts swinging them while they stroll. Richard can't help but smiles too.  
  
"So this...thing with Cara?" he tentatively asks, not really knowing what he's fishing for.  
  
"Thing?"  
  
"You know...the...the cuddling," he murmurs somewhat abashed.  
  
Kahlan laughs a joyous peel.  
  
"I know!" she all but squeals, "If you told me a year ago that my life would include a cuddly Mord'sith I'd confess you out of pity - to wipe your mind of its madness." Her voice is laughter, cheeks stretching and dimpling with happiness.  
  
"It is so wonderful Richard - the progress she's made. And it's thanks to you, you know - sometimes you see people more clearly than a Confessor." She brings their joined hands to her mouth and kisses the back of his palm. 

"You are so wonderful," she adds happily. Her eyes are earnest, her face besotting in its radiance.  
  
Richard marinates in the warm feeling spreading from his heart to the very tips of his toes. He adds a little push to the swinging of their hands as they mosey on.  
  
  


* * *

  
Cara looks to be deep in thought; such has been the state of her being recently.  
It is her turn to stare at Kahlan's back as Richard and the Kahlan cavort in front of them.  
  
"Wizard?"  
  
"Yes Cara?"  
  
"Have you ever had an apprentice?" the blond asks without dropping her eyes from Kahlan's back.  
  
These days Zedd never knows what the Mord'sith might ask him, but thus far he has found himself willing to answer her anything, mostly out of sheer curiosity for where their conversation might go.  
  
"You could say that Richard is my apprentice," Zedd suggests.  
  
"And yet, I have not seen him cast a single spell," Cara deadpans so nonchalantly that Zedd thinks she might have whipped the rejoinder out of pure instinct.  
  
"Are you critiquing my abilities as a teacher?" the wizard asks in an amused tone.  
  
"No, no. it's just..." The blond hesitates, searching for the right words.  
  
Zedd cants his head towards her and lifts his eyebrows as if to say that she can ask anything without any judgment on his part.  
  
  
"Richard is your grandson is he not? Did you ever have students that you did not raise from birth?" she eventually asks.  
  
"I did; several actually, when I was still living in Aydindril."  
  
"And did you like them?"  
  
"My students?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Some more than others."  
  
Cara seems to think deeply before articulating her next question.  
"Why did you like the ones you liked?"  
  
Zedd wonders what it is that Cara is trying to glean so he soldiers on-  
"Well, they tended to be more talented than their counterparts, but mostly they were more interesting and more curious than the rest. I learned from them as much as they learned from me."  
  
"So you did not just teach them magic?" Cara asks, and Zedd has a feeling that this is a rhetorical question, one that is only there as a lead to the real quarry - but for the life of him he still cannot figure out what the blond is after.  
  
"No I did not just teach them magic."  
  
"What else did you do?"  
  
"Honestly? Mostly we probably just ended up talking."  
And here Cara perks up.  
  
  
"Cara, what is this about?" Zedd enquires gently.  
  
"Nothing," the blond answers gruffly and for the first time since they embarked on this bizarre exchange she shifts her gaze from Kahlan's back to her own horse, which is calmly walking beside her.

"I was just wondering how, hmm...-what you used to talk about," she quickly corrects.  
  
Zedd stairs at her, trying to soak in and comprehend all the different layers of the conversation, but Cara's gaze remains on her horse - her hand fidgeting with the reins.  
  
"I have often found that the reason that I felt closer to some students rather than others is because our conversations regularly allowed for a degree of vulnerability and trust that other people were not privy to," he finally says in a careful tone.  
  
Cara finally turns her head to look at him fully.  
  
"Vulnerability," she echoes, it sounds more like a sigh of resignation than a question, and Zedd is alarmed to realize that he has never _truly_ seen the blond look defeated until now.  
  
"It is not such a bad thing, you know," Zedd says, "they felt comfortable enough to tell me things that they did not admit to anyone else, sometimes not even to themselves - we could then discuss and process these subjects."  
  
Cara turns her gaze back to Kahlan.  
  
"You know you can talk to any of us Cara," Zedd says after a moment.

He can see Cara's jaw muscles flexing.  
  
"You can tell _her_ anything, you must know by now that she would never intentionally hurt you," he adds in his most gentle tone.  
  
"I know," she finally says, "but I might hurt her."  
  


* * *

  
Night has arrived and they have seen nary a D'Haran the entire day. Zedd muses that maybe they hate the rain as much as he does.  
  
About two hours ago Cara had promptly told them of a hot spring in the area and had suggest that they set up camp close to it so that they could warm their clammy bones.  
Zedd has a sneaking suspicion that the Mord'sith's offhand suggestion stems from Cara's newfound - though endearingly genuine - consideration of his aversion to dampness.  
  
The evening seemed to be wrapping up swimmingly, which in retrospect he should have recognized as one of life's annoying habits of lulling you into a sense of security before throwing heartache and drama at your face.  
  
It happens right before the girls take their turn at the hot springs.  
  
Kahlan has just asked Cara if she would like to join her, the blond surprising the Mother Confessor by saying yes, which in turn causes the brunette to beam one of her sunny smiles and the two women share a moment - Kahlan grinning like a goof, Cara with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed, though her expression looks more fearful than annoyed.  
  
Unfortunately, that is the exact moment that Richard finishes putting the last of the saddle bags on the ground. He straightens up, glances over at the women and rests his hand on the pommel of the Sword of Truth.  
  
The blade glows orange.  
  
The shine is almost unnoticeable since the sword is still sheathed at Richard's waist. However, the Seeker's suddenly pale face and stunned expression are all the confirmation Zedd needs.  
  
The girls grab some towels and leave, Richard remains frozen at his spot.

The minute the Confessor and Mord'sith are out of sight he turns on his heels and stiffly walks into the forest, his entire demeanor speaking of a deep shock.  
  
Zedd sighs and follows him quietly.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!: this one is rated HIGH for very upsetting content dealing with Cara's past.  
> ====================================================

Zedd follows the sounds of timber being hacked.  
  
True enough he finds the Seeker of Truth chopping away at the massive trunk of an oak tree. Zedd can't help a small pained smile, only a true woodsman such as Richard, even in has agitated state, could find such a hulking tree to vent upon his wounded heart.

He finds an acceptably smooth bolder nearby and lowers himself with a groan, knees creaking, some vertebrae popping - waiting with the patience of wise old wizards. Richard noticed him, but chooses to continue cleaving at the poor tree.  
  
"I hate. Hate! HATE! Being the Seeker of truth!" he eventually yells, punctuating every exclamation with a hack from his sword.  
  
"Richard," Zed cautiously starts, "you don't actually know-"  
  
"YES I DO ZEDD!" Richard screams while turning around suddenly, hands spread to his side, his left still holding the sword.  
  
His chest is sweaty and heaving, his face is red and wet with streaming tears and a runny nose, brow scrunched in a look of utter pain and heart break.  
  
"Yes I do," he says again, quietly. "I know it utterly. Completely. I know it without the ability or protection of denial; and you know what the worst part is Zedd? Do you?"  
  
Richard walks over to where Zedd is sitting, stabs the weapon into the ground and crumbles to his knees, he wrapping his arms around his grandfather's waist and tucks his face against the old wizard's stomach.  
  
"The worst part is that she doesn't."  
  
Zedd's one hand cradles Richard's head, the other slowly petting the top of his back.  
  
"What am I going to do?" Richard keens in a small lost voice. "She loves her _so_ much."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
The moon is full and the hot springs look glorious. In fact they are so appealing the Kahlan is buck naked and inside before she even notices that Cara has not followed her. 

Instead, Cara is sitting still fully dressed by the side of the water with her knees tucked to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, an apprehensive look etched on her face.  
  
"Cara?" Kahlan glides to the side of the basin next to where the Mord'sith is sitting; she folds her arms on the ledge and rests her chin on them, the steam of the water slowly rising around her in lazy smoky patterns.  
  
"What is it?" the brunette asks tilting her head on her arms, trying to catch Cara's eyes under the curtain of her blonde hair.  
  
"I lied," the Mord'sith moves her forehead to rest on her arms, obscuring Kahlan's view of her face.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"After the tomb, I lied; I wasn't delirious from lack of air."  
  
"Oh Cara," Kahlan smiles tenderly "I know that-"  
  
"No you don't," Cara snaps angrily. She rises and starts pacing a small path back and forth by the ledge.  
  
"Okay," Kahlan dips her voice in a manner conveying amused patience, "then tell me. But first, come into the water - we might as well get comfortable."  
  
Cara huffs and strips matter-of-factly, Kahlan spins around the minute she begins. The blond just rolls her eyes.  
  
The pool they are in is not large, maybe 5 meters in diameter. The bottom seems to be made of one large lightly textured rock with smaller egg shaped ones strewn about the floor - making for convenient sitting spots. The two of them are seated not too closely but still technically side by side on the largest egg shaped bolder with their backs resting against the ledge, Kahlan has her eyes closed.  
  
"I care for you," Cara says after a few minutes.  
  
Kahlan snaps her eyes open and looks over at the blond, her fond half-grin slowly blooming on her features.  
  
"I've never truly cared for anyone in my life before you."  
  
Kahlan's smile is replaced with a confused frown.  
  
"What about your parents, your childhood friends?"  
  
"I loved them, I was a child - of course I loved them. But you can hurt the ones you love. I...I love Richard too, and you, and Zedd," Cara chokes out.  
  
Kahlan has gravitated closer, lifting her hand to Cara's shoulder, gently touching. Cara can see the other woman's heart pounding wildly at her throat.  
  
"But with you, I also really _like_ you Kahlan, and...and I don't want to hurt you-"  
  
"You won't hurt me Cara," Kahlan grabs the Mord'sith's face with both her hands, staring intently into her eyes. "I trust you; I trust my life to you."  
  
"It's not your life I'm afraid for."  
  
"Tell me, Please."  
  
Cara sinks on her spot into the water and stays there for a long moment; Kahlan patiently awaits her emergence knowing that the other woman probably needs the intermission to collect herself. When she finally surfaces, Cara's hair is beautifully slicked back but her face is impassive - dead. Nevertheless she starts talking.  
  
"I was twelve when I got my cycle."  
  
Kahlan frowns, she actually does not know what to expect so she sits tight and braces herself for whatever comes.  
  
"The Mord'sith were created to protect the lord Rahl, that is our purpose, our reason to exist -  
Our devotion is a necessity derived from that purpose,  
Our breaking is a necessity derived from that purpose."  
  
Cara lowers her head and her shoulders stiffen even more.  
  
"The lord Rahl however, does not need to be devoted to his protectors. And Darken...he...he smeared the two concept together and exploited them, devotion and breaking, obedience and pain. He demanded both, even when he already had them, even when it was unnecessary, inefficient, even detrimental. He enjoyed it even more - knowing that he could take without hindrance...gloating, but he had to have both...he had to have the pain too..."  
  
"Cara?"  
  
"I was twelve when I got my cycle, and Darken had decreed that all Mord'sith where to be sampled by him when they turned woman."  
  
Cara slants a peek at Kahlan; the brunette has a look of horror on her deathly pale face, the Confessor's hand is clawing into the skin of her shoulder and Cara concentrates on the pain, centers herself through it so she can carry on.  
  
"I quickly became one of his favorites, for I exhibited the two things he craved the most: obedience and suffering. I hated him, I hated him and I did everything he commanded me with a D'Haran devotion playing off my lips. He couldn't get enough of me."  
  
Kahlan leaves, she simply stands up and hurriedly exits the pool.

Cara lifts her knees to her chest again, her hands cradling her head, a feeling of suffocating misery emanating from every poor of her being. She feels weird, heavy, alone.  
  
In the background she can hear Kahlan retching.  
  
And then Kahlan returns, her entrance parting the swirling steam rising from the water - bringing with her a cool breeze that wakes Cara from her introverted state.

Kahlan looks like she's been crying, a lot. Cara is surprised that she had not noticed it until now.

The brunette cradles Cara's face with both her hands and opens her mouth as if to say something but nothing comes out, so she just stokes Cara's cheeks again and again, trying to squeak out a word, a sound, _anything_.  
  
Cara just stairs at her, not knowing what to do, her heart spasming in tingly painful waves.

"Don't...don't cry Kahlan - It was considered an honor to be chosen by lord Rahl," she tries by way of appeasement.  
  
Kahlan touches her forehead to the blond's, her crying becoming quietly audible.  
  
"Cara, it is okay to cry, it is allowed," The brunette finally manages.  
  
Cara's eyes remain completely dry. They stay like this for many minutes.  
  
  
Eventually the blond notices that her hands are pruning and she mentions it to Kahlan, when she receives no answer she slowly lowers the Mother Confessors hands from her face and turns around to lift herself to the ledge of the pool. She suddenly stiffens. Kahlan has lunged forward and glued herself to Cara's back - the brunette's hand snaking around her waist to hold her tight, her face pressed to the spot between Cara's neck and shoulder.  
  
"Please don't leave yet," she whispers in her ear.  
  
And Cara thinks she's never felt so alive. Her ears are ringing, her skin is humming, every nerve ending pressed to Kahlan sending her overwhelming amounts of information about every aspect of the contact - from the soft smoothness of the brunette's breasts that are pressed to her back, to the distinct coarseness of Kahlan's pubic hair tickling the topmost curve of her ass.  
Her breath turns shallow and she concentrates on surviving the next few moments.  
  
"I can't cry, Kahlan," she says at last.  
  
"That's okay," she kisses Cara's shoulder "I'll cry for you."


	8. VIII

This is happening too fast.  
  
She can feel panic skirting the edge of her mind, circling like a crafty vulture. If she lets her concentration slip for a second she will surely drown. And so she breathes - every inhalation inviting the wave, every exhalation a victory. In between, her mind races to make sense of the emotions that are besieging her.  
  
She compartmentalizes, dividing herself into manageable segments that she can then shut out.  
  
Her body is sending her enormous amounts of minute details gleaned from her sense of touch. If anything, she knows how to deal with that - and so she reverts to her well-practiced state of feeling-not-feeling.  
  
Next comes the peripheral part of her thoughts, simple sentences and questions communicating themselves in a disjointed and useless stream whose only purpose is to vent some of the pressure that the panic is creating in her mind: what is going on? What should I do? Should I do anything? Why does my voice sound so weird in my head? What a stupid observation, this is pointless. _Enough_.  
  
And with that she shuts out that part as well.  
  
Finally, she has sufficient elbow room to deal with the deeper parts of her thoughts - the observations composed by the truly thinking element of her mind. What is it about Kahlan's embrace that is overwhelming her so?  
  
She breathes again, closes her eyes and tips her head back on the brunette’s shoulder; she relaxes and truly takes stock of herself for the first time.  
  
Astounded, she finds that it isn't Kahlan at all that is causing this chaos, it is her _own_ reaction.  
  
She wants to turn around and...touch Kahlan, just touch her. Not in a sexual way, not in a possessive way, not even in a comforting way. It is so _strong_ , more than a need, more than an ache.  
  
She is attracted to Kahlan. This is nothing new. What is surprising is the quality of the attraction - like a magnet, like the true meaning of the word 'attraction'.  
  
Her mind keeps conjuring images of simple actions that are at the same time so _intense_ that her torso and upper thighs are shivering with the sensation one gets when peering over an incredibly tall cliff. Images like turning around and pressing her forehead to Kahlan's, or touching her lips to the taller woman's pulse point with mouth slightly open - not a kiss, just contact. Images of hugging back, of simple intimacies, of worship, of _reverence_.  
  
Eventually Kahlan lets her go. Cara's body involuntarily sways back - chasing the connection, and she catches herself.  
  
After that she _does_ turn around, only to find the brunette looking at her with the most adoring and pained look Cara has ever seen a person wear. What is even more alarming is that the Mother Confessor's irises are completely black.

She assumes that Kahlan is not really paying attention to herself and so she keeps her reaction under wraps. It doesn't matter anyway; obviously the Kahlan did not do anything - she just got slightly carried away.  
  
_After all_ , Cara thinks, _I'm still alive_.  
  
They get dressed awkwardly and head back to camp. Surprisingly, the walk back is silent and peaceful; the Mother Confessor seems preoccupied with her own thoughts and Cara is grateful for the reprieve. When they near the encampment Cara notices that Richard is gone. She sighs and turns to Kahlan to tell her that she needs to search for him only to find the brunette already smiling at her with understanding.  
  
Kahlan is sad; the blond can sense it underneath the brave front the Mother Confessor is putting on. The Mord’Sith finds herself once again standing like a fool, rooted to the spot by her inexperience with dealing with such situations. Kahlan must think she has gone daft.  
  
The brunette just squeezes her arm.  
  
"Go, do your duty - I am fine, really.”  
  
Cara stares at her for a moment longer and then leaves to find her wayward Rahl.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
This day is turning out to be very difficult, Zedd thinks, while rubbing at the middle of his brow. He has returned from the forest without Richard, his grandson electing to stay behind to calm down a bit.  
  
He is just putting the finishing touches on the wholesome stew he has been working on - one made to ease a broken heart - when Kahlan returns from the spring without her companion.  
  
"Where is Cara?" the wizard asks with a creeping sense of alarm. "I don't think she should be bothering Richard right-"  
  
“Zedd?” the brunette looks at him. Her eyes are watery, her eyebrows delicately scrunched up in a look of such misery and distress that he feels the strings of his heart immediately vibrate, as if they were pulled taut between his chest and Kahlan’s and she has just plucked them with her finger.  
  
He moves to rise but she immediately rushes to sit on the log next to him.  
  
“What is it child?” he gently asks, holding her pale hands in his warm, leathery ones.  
  
When Richard was much younger - a baby, he got an ear infection one wet winter and Zedd remembers how he was absolutely beside himself. There he was, holding in his arms this most precious, poor, darling little thing, whose crying and hurting and tiny-little-ear scratching utterly broke his grandfather’s heart.  
  
Zedd knew that baby Richard would be all right, that many infants get ear infections and that this was not a huge deal. He knew that soon the warmed up olive oil he dribbled down Richard’s little ears would sooth the child to sleep - but it still did not stop him from feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy, of wondrous bittersweet love. It was the love of a parent, wanting to spare this singularly beloved being all the woes and realities of life - even knowing full well that such a wish is not only impossible but also ultimately detrimental to the child himself.  
  
This is how he feels now, looking at Kahlan’s blue, blue eyes, her utter loveliness making the misery on her features ever more heart wrenching.  
  
“Cara is hurt,” she finally blurts out. “Bad. Cara is hurt bad, and I don’t-“ her voice breaks and a tear escapes each of her eyes. “I don’t know how…“ her face scrunches even more and she lowers her head. Zedd scoots over and gathers her to him, hugging her with both arms as tightly as he can.  
  
“I am a Confessor,” she hitches through her tears, “I know justice, and fairness, and peace; I can help with these things. But I…” she buries her face deeper in his shoulder, “I don’t know how to heal such…how to help…” She takes two staccato inhalations, trying to get enough air into her lungs to continue talking past her breath's shattered tempo.  
  
“Why is this hurting me so much?” she finally keens, bewildered, her eyes pouring and her breathing hyperventilating with gulping hiccups.  
  
Zedd just holds her. Not rocking, not talking or humming. Just holding, warm and stable.  
  
After many minutes Kahlan quiets down, though she doesn’t let go or move her face from under his chin. Zedd waits a few more moments and then kisses her brow and pulls back a bit.  
  
“What did you do?” he asks gently.  
  
She lifts her head, eyes looking up at him uncomprehendingly.  
  
“When you found out?” he elaborates.  
  
“I cried,” she finally says. “I told her I would cry for her since she cannot.”  
  
“And now you are,” he smiles gently. “You are not just leaking fluids from your face my dear, you are crying – properly, out of emotion, out of pain and suffering – her suffering.”  
  
Kahlan seems to pause and think about it.  
  
“Do you think it helps?” she asks with a voice suddenly young and innocent. And Zedd is assaulted all over again with the feeling of parental love. He hugs her tightly to himself once more.  
  
“Yes,” he says with a smile in his voice, “most definitely yes. And I will be here for you Kahlan Amnell, to share in your tears and lighten your burden, and so will Richard and Dennee, and all the people who love you dearly,” he adds and pulls away again to put his hands on her shoulders - to make sure he has her eye.  
  
“ _That_ , my dear, is what family is for.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Cara finds Richard with his head in his hands sitting by an enormous oak tree whose trunk looks lightly scarred from chopping. She comes up behind him and puts her hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I know it has been getting a little colder these past nights, but isn’t this a bit excessive even for a Lord Rahl?" she teases him with a slight grin.  
  
Richard springs to his feet and grabs her by the throat. Cara is so surprised that he manages to turn her around and slam her against the tree before she even has the time to grab the hands at her neck.  
  
"What-"  
  
"Don't you dare hurt her!" he yells, his face inches from hers.  
  
"What-" she tries again, her voice pitching higher, her hands scratching at his.  
  
"I am your Lord Rahl, and I _command_ you, no matter what you do…Don't. You. Hurt. Her," he growls, low and dangerous.  
  
Cara has never seen him so serious, so spiteful.  
  
"Of course my lord, as you command." She relaxes her body, allowing her neck muscles to go limp; Richard's fingers sink right in as Cara's brow breaks out in a sweat while the veins at her forehead and temples pop out spectacularly.

Richard immediately lets go, his eyes wide with horror - he has forgotten once again that she would resist nothing he does. _All right_ , she thinks, _now I just need to figure out what on earth he wants from me_.  
  
"My lord?"  
  
"No Cara, don't call me that, I'm...I'm so, _so_ sorry.”  
  
Cara patiently stares at Richard; he is bent over with his hands on his knees looking even more winded than she is, which is not a dignified reaction for the person who did all the choking, at least in Cara's opinion.  
  
"There is no need for forgiveness Seeker, you know this.”  
  
He gazes up at her with a stricken look.  
  
"No, Cara, please, I'm sorry. Don't let a moment of my _utter_ stupidity ruin all the-"  
  
"Fine, I forgive you.”  
  
"What?"  
  
"I forgive you, and now all is well; your actions today will not be the catalyst that will push me into a spiraling decent that ends with me being a heartless, malicious monster that enjoys eating babies.”  
  
Cara crosses her arms and shifts her weight to her other leg.  
  
"Well, at least not the baby part," she smirks.  
  
"Cara, please don't make light of this.”  
  
"Look, I'm not completely thick Seeker; it is obvious that something is bothering you - something that you need to get off your chest. Your...enthusiasm does not faze me, so speak and let's get this over with, I'm sure by the end of it I'd rather you be choking me anyway.”  
  
Richard blinks at her rather stupidly.  
  
"Richard. Speak.”  
  
After a few more moments he straightens up and takes a deep breath.  
  
"Please don't hurt Kahlan, you know I care for her dearly.”  
  
"Of course not,” Cara says, and Richard is surprised to see an offended look on her face. "Richard, I'm not angry, you could choke me a whole lot more and I would still never lay a finger on her.”  
  
"No, no, Cara this is not about right now...and anyways I didn't mean...look, I'm not talking about you physically assaulting her, you _know_ that."  
  
"I do?"  
  
"Well...Yes. No?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Richard frowns. Cara frowns harder.  
  
"Is this a test?" the blond eventually asks.  
  
"What? No.”  
  
"Only a test of my patience..." she growls under her breath.  
  
"Look Cara, Kahlan cares for you," Richard finally says, looking at her as if he is expecting her to fall dead from the revelation.  
  
"Kahlan cares for everything, what's your point?”  
  
"My point is that she _cares_ for you.”  
  
"You said that.”  
  
"I know! Why...how can you not understand this?" he yells while turning around and throwing his hands up in the air.  
  
He swirls back and glares at her. Cara lifts an eyebrow.  
  
"Please, choke me.”  
  
"Ugh! Fine, you know what, just do me a favor," he says while rubbing at his eyes. "Just try not to make her sad, okay?"  
  
He is expecting a snarky reply, a condescending word, even a "Yes, Lord Rahl," but all he is met with is silence. He slowly lowers his hand from his eyes.  
  
Cara's face is flushed, her eyes are downcast and glossy from what looks like unshed tears, the veins at her forehead once again protruding.

Richard is floored.  
  
"I'm sorry Richard; I think I might have already failed you." And he thinks the Mord'Sith might actualy cry.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Go to sleep my boy, it’s been my watch for half a mark already, tiredness will not ease your feelings.”  
  
Richard is sitting on the ground staring at the dying fire. Across from him, about a body length from the opposite side of the fire pit are Kahlan and Cara - asleep, content, and messily wrapped around each other and their sleeping furs - not unlike a litter of puppies.  
  
The night sky is bright and peaceful, the last embers of the fire are crackling, the crickets are chirping, and nearby an owl hoots, such a contrast to the stilted awkwardness that ruled their camp a few hours ago.  
  
“They don’t know Zedd, neither of them.”  
  
Zedd comes and sits on a log next to Richard, patting the man’s shoulder before he finishes settling his old bones down.  
  
“They say it to each other so clearly with their actions, they feel it so strongly that my sword nearly lights up without me even touching it. And yet they don’t know.”  
  
Zedd remains silent, letting Richard reach his conclusions without interruption. Richard’s gaze remains on the fire pit and the sleeping pallets beyond it.  
  
“Kahlan knows she adores Cara, she even recognizes that Cara makes her happy - these are all truths - she just never thinks to follow them to their logical conclusion. And Cara, she thinks she needs something from Kahlan - also true - but Spirits, it is so much more.”  
  
He turns to look at Zedd; the old wizard is looking at him, his right arm perched on a bony knee, his face resting on the palm - a wise and bittersweet smile gracing his features.  
  
“You _know_ all this,” Richard says in a somewhat betrayed voice. “Why didn’t you tell me? No, don’t answer that, a part of me still wishes I did not know myself.”  
  
Zedd rises and pats his shoulder once again.  
  
“Go to sleep my boy, tiredness will not ease your feelings.”  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Cara moves the last branch and steps into the clearing. She is about to continue towards the tree when she spots a figure crouching next to the river. She drops to the grassy ground and crawls closer, trying to get a better glimpse of the thing.  
  
About halfway to her destination she stops. Since when is there a river next to her tree? Was it always there? Trying to hold on to memories in her dream is like trying to hold on to sand underwater. Never mind, she will just have to ask her Wisp - but first she needs a better look at the creature.  
  
It is a child, she observes when she gets closer - dirty, beaten, and in rags. She cannot see its features yet as it is crouched away from her and over the river. Strewn by the youngster’s feet are tens of the wooden boxes that usually decorate her tree, all of them open, empty and haphazardly discarded.  
  
She can see the child working on another one, beating the wooden container onto a rock until the lid breaks off, and then pouring the contents into the river. She shudders when she sees the yellow-orange light spilling into the water, mingling with it like fluid, like blood.  
  
“Child?” she calls in a tone she hopes is not too frightening. The child turns around and then flees towards the roots of the tree, Cara remains frozen and dumbfounded.

The child looks like a younger version of herself. It _is_ a younger version of herself.  
  
How can she exist in two places at once? She needs more answers so she rises to give chase, but before she does anything the last unopened box catches her eye and she hesitates.  
  
She looks to the tree; she can feel the child's eyes on her from between the shadows of the roots, hurt, savage, malicious. She grabs the last box and waves it over her head to make sure that the other-her can see it, she then throws it to the ground with brutal force. The thing shatters with a sickening shriek. She then grabs the box and pours the light into the river before it can contaminate the grass. When she is done she discards the case next to its depleted brethren.  
  
“Where has this river come from?” she asks her Wisp, who is suddenly beside her.  
  
“From the other side of the path,” the Wisp answers.  
  
She inhales a shaky breath.  
  
"Kahlan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	9. IX

It is very early in the morning and the world is cold. From her cocoon of furs and heat Cara observes a grayish sunrise.  
  
The skies have once again started drizzling in a half-hearted manner, though apparently it is not enough to wake her sleeping companion. The blonde scoots back a bit to get a better look at the woman sprawled half way on top of her. Kahlan's face is puffy with sleep and her cheek is indented with the lines of her makeshift pillow. Cara has the urge to trace the funny patterns that are making their way over nearly half of the brunette’s face. Kahlan's body is giving off lots of heat as if she has a fever. The blond gently puts her chin to the other woman's forehead. No, not a fever; the temperature is not high enough and she isn't really sweating. Cara settles for smoothing back a long strand of dark, silken hair and sighs.  
  
Here, in her very arms, lays the answer to questions she has not yet even articulated. She doesn't know if she is more frustrated or depressed at her inability to see the elusive bigger picture. It is like searching for a name that is on the tip of your tongue-only in reverse-the name is known, the context is missing.  
  
She sighs once more and starts the task of gently waking Kahlan. Nearby a crow caws.  
  
  


* * *

  
The day is shaping up to be quite a gloomy affair both in weather and in disposition. Zedd takes a moment to survey his younger companions. They have all adopted an air of quiet introspection-not tense, but definitely somber-and he fights the urge to intervene, after all, he has not become a wizard of the First Order by forgetting the rules, especially not the second one. And so he refrains, considering as the greatest harm truly _can_ result from the best of intentions.  
  
Luckily the bubble of brooding the group has been riding in finally pops about two hours after noontime.  
  
They are about to exit the forest when, just before the edge-a crow warily cries-causing Richard to look up into the raining skies to see the treetops brimming with bandits whose ambush just got ruined. They all scuttle for cover and spend the next few minutes shooting the poor bastards out of the trees with the help of superior skill and wizard's fire. Eventually, enough of the bandits manage to scramble down to the ground and the skirmish turns into a face-to-face ordeal.  
  


* * *

  
There are many qualities about Kahlan that impress Cara despite herself; things like Kahlan being too emotional, too prone to distraction, too kind, too smiley, too tall; things that Cara used to see as weakness but, annoyingly enough, Kahlan manages to continuously subvert into advantages somehow.

Yet without a doubt, the most worthy quality to impress the Mord'Sith is Kahlan's fighting style.  
  
The brunette's attacks are circular as befitting a user handling a smaller weapon, and fluid as is appropriate when duel wielding; but they are also beautiful, really beautiful.  
  
Kahlan moves like a dancer-adding unnecessary little twirls and serifs to her movements-actions that are superfluous and uneconomical for the kill, yet always succeed in awing the beholder.  
  
The Mother Confessor did not just _learn_ to fight like that, rather it is the elusive and coveted quality that some people are simply born with and others are not, namely: talent.  
  
Her style is like water to Cara's earth. And the Mord'Sith really can't help but be impressed.  
  
She and Richard have both just finished off their last bandits and have stopped to take a moment to appreciate Kahlan in action, knowing that if the brunette suddenly gets overwhelmed they can always step in to assist.  
  
The Mother Confessor is fending off two attackers at the same time, twirling and slashing at the two larger men without giving them a chance to rest. She has them both on their defenses but the two are obviously too dumb to realize that they are outmatched.  
  
The rhythm of Cara's heartbeat suddenly spikes when she sees the bandit on the right prepare for a lunge at the back of the Confessor's head, but Kahlan has anticipated the move and she seamlessly bends her body forward low enough to dodge the blow - her hair tracing after the rounded motion in an impressive curtain while her knife swipes at the second bandit's Achilles tendon. He falls to the ground screaming and Kahlan finishes the move by rising and turning back to face her initial foe. But before she even finishes the maneuver she throws her newly bloodied dagger straight up in the air - a move that catches the first bandit's attention, making him lift his chin to follow the weapon with his eyes as the brunette takes the opportunity to stab him in the throat at point blank range with her remaining dagger.

 _Good girl_ , Cara thinks with a smirk.  
  
The brunette catches the tossed dagger on its way down with practiced ease and uses the momentum to hurl it at the prone bandit before he can try anything else. The weapon hits his rib cage with a satisfying ‘thwack’ and a disturbingly familiar burst of yellow and orange lights.  
  
Cara's eyes bug out and she turns to Richard with alarm.  
  
"Did you see that?"  
  
"Yes," Richard grins, "nice touch with the dagger tossing, I'll have to remember that.”  
  
"No, not that. The lights."  
  
"Lights?"  
  
"Yes, the..." Cara looks at Richard's uncomprehending face and pauses. "Never mind.”  
  
She turns to leave but Richard grabs her elbow.  
  
"Cara, are you alright? You're as pale as a ghost."  
  
"I'm fine Richard." She shakes his hand off and turns to leave again.  
  
"You know I'm still your friend." Richard stops her with his words, and she slowly turns around. "I'm still your friend Cara, I just need...it'll just take me a little bit more time to get over this.”  
  
"Get over what Richard? Stop speaking in riddles, you sound like a Night Wisp," she barks. Richard just pats her shoulder affectionately with an 'oh Cara' expression.  
  
_Night Wisp_? He mouths to himself after she leaves.  
  


* * *

  
The atmosphere has almost completely cleared up after the afternoon skirmish, both in the group and up in the heavens. The two environments are only slightly marred-the skies stained by a murder of crows that have been lazily following the little company for a while-and the mood in the group by Cara.  
  
Zedd is surprised by the blonde's disposition; usually a fight puts her in high spirits. He was honestly expecting her to be snarking away at Richard at the head of their little procession; instead she has chosen to brood beside him while he holds the tether to both their horses.  
  
"Tell me about Night Wisps," she suddenly says without warning.  
  
Zedd lifts both his eyebrows and looks quickly at Kahlan who is walking only a few paces ahead of them. Richard has the reins to her horse as well as his own and is walking the two beasts at the lead.  
  
Zedd wonders if he should bring the Mother Confessor into the conversation since, honestly, Night Wisps are really her forté.  
  
"Zedd?" Cara asks again.  
  
"Indeed," he begins, "what do you want to know? I can tell you the obvious: Night Wisps are a race brimming with Powerful Magic, they are small, they glow blue, they only come out at night..."  
  
"Yes, yes, we all know that...tell me what makes them unique, different from other magical races.”  
  
"Well, there is their language; Night Wisps don't so much as _speak_ as they _communicate_..."  
  
"A-ha. So the little pains _are_ mind readers," she says while narrowing her eyes and Zedd gets the impression that she finds the allegation rather fitting.  
  
"Not quite," he disappoints, "they cannot know what you are thinking, no; but they _do_ listen to you in ways you may not even know you are speaking, in an odd way it ties to their sense of sight of all things. Apparently Night Wisps have a different spectrum in which they see..."  
  
“They see the inside,” Cara cuts him off and Zedd looks at her strangely. “They see how we arrange ourselves on the inside.”  
  
“Yes,” Kahlan says. She has been covertly listening in on the discussion even as she's been slowing her pace to close the distance between them and Cara is surprised to suddenly find her walking to her left. The brunette graces her with a small frown, looking both puzzled and interested.  
  
“On the inside?” Zedd echoes.  
  
“Yes,” Cara turns her attention back to Zedd on her right, “how we look. You know…like a tree or…” she looks over towards Kahlan again, “or a river.”  
  
There is a pause where Kahlan’s frown deepens, she takes a quick and audible breath and asks, “Cara, what is going on?”  
  
"Have you ever been present at the birth of a Night Wisp?" the blonde asks instead.  
  
"No.” Kahlan looks pained and Cara knows that she still feels guilty for not being able to help more when... _that_ happened.  
  
"Actually," Zedd sounds surprised at whatever thought just passed through his head, "I don't think I've heard or even read of anyone who bore witness to the birth of a Night Wisp, especially seeing as how rare these occasions are.”  
  
"Why are they so rare?" Cara asks.  
  
"Because Wisps are creatures of balance," Kahlan answers, and Cara thinks she might get a whiplash before this talk is over from turning her head back and forth between the two. "Wisps are connected to nature and their environment through Powerful Magic," the Mother Confessor continues, "and as such they maintain a natural yet strict population limit. A new Wisp is born only when an older one dies, and although they are very fragile, they are also essentially immortal.”  
  
"So you see Cara," Zedd continues now, "for you to observe the birth of a Night Wisp, let alone the entire repopulation of the species is something quite wondrous." He smiles at her.  
  
Not _quite_ the answer she was looking for, Cara thinks, but she is definitely planning on having _some words_ tonight when she meets her little friend...  
  
  


* * *

  
  
"I saw orange lights coming out of Kahlan, _my_ orange lights that were in the boxes, the boxes that the other-me poured into this river - _Kahlan's river_!" she points her finger angrily at the slowly moving water.  
  
The Wisp hums happily, her tree gently sways in the moonlight, and from between its massive roots she can feel little eyes on her and a sense of curiosity emanating. _Whatever_.  
  
"Richard didn't see it."  
  
The Wisp just continues to frolic about in the air as it hums its cheerful tune.  
  
"Why are you so happy? You stupid bug." She crosses her arms and sits down on the grassy bank in a huff.  
  
They stay like this for quite a while, Cara pouting and the Wisp merrily dancing around her head.  
  
"So what, I’m part Wisp now?" she finally grumbles.  
  
"No, no, not _part_. Hmm...This is more akin to being a _child of_ …" it unexpectedly announces.  
  
Cara lifts her eyebrows while displaying the most sarcastic expression she can possibly muster as she awaits further explanation.

A long moment passes.  
  
"Okay, I’ll bite, why is the distinction so important?"  
  
The Wisp seems pleased with her question.  
  
"Although it is true that an offspring is made up from the sum of her parents, the mixture and combination actually creates something completely unique," it beams, "while you may often recognize pieces of a child’s characteristics in her procreator-indeed, sometimes entire swathes that seem as if they have been transported whole-ultimately what controls the ensemble is a completely new personality, a new will!" The Wisp’s light grows excitedly brighter towards the end of the oration.  
  
"You are not 'part Wisp' Cara." The little creature's light shines brighter still. "Neither are you Mord’Sith or even human anymore."  
  
The Night Wisp's glow is intense now; as if trying to impart upon Cara the knowledge and gravity of the situation via light beams.  
  
"What am I then?" Cara asks, squinting furiously while holding up her hand in front of her face.  
  
"I don't know." The Wisp's light subsides with uncertainty, but then immediately brightens. "Something new," it says happily. As if the state of newness is a joyous one instead of the aggravation and trouble she just knows this will bring.  
  
But then Cara is reminded that the Wisp is a newborn itself - and if such a fragile and weak little creature is unafraid of uncertainty, neither will she.  
  
The Wisp seems to approve of her decision and she wonders if it truly can't read minds, but before she gets a chance to ask she senses the pull of consciousness.  
  
"Until next time then, sister Day Wisp," her little friend manages to pipe before Cara's mind surfaces and her eyes open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter relies on the reader's familiarity with the last few episodes of the second (and last) season of the "Legend o the Seeker", and also a bit on how Magic works in the book-verse.
> 
> If you haven't seen the show things might move a little fast and jumpy for you plot-wise, but I think it's all still understandable.
> 
> If you haven't read the books it's no big deal either - they're not that great anyway.

"Should we do something about our shadow?" Richard says quietly, rubbing his cold hands and holding them against the early morning fire. Later in the day it'll warm up, but for now he is crouching with a blanked wrapped around him, warm mists puffing from his mouth as he speaks.  
  
"You mean the crow?" Cara asks. She is already working on packing the horses.  
  
"I wonder where its friends are," Kahlan mumbles and looks up from her morning porridge. Her face peers from the huddle of her own blanket that is wrapped around her back and shoulders like a hooded cloak - trying to spot the animal.  
  
"The flock turned around yesterday," Zedd answers. "She is alone - now would be a good time to set a trap."  
  
"You're sure it's a Mord’Sith?" Richard asks him.  
  
"Yes." Cara is the one to answer, her voice brooks no argument and Richard nods.  
  
"I can set up a spell around us, it will force her to take human form and continue by foot, but I have to maintain it constantly so the rest of you will have to take her down without my help."  
  
"We can do that. Zedd set up the enchantment after we reach the next village, we'll sell our horses there - we need the money for supplies, plus that'll give our tail a chance to catch up to us. Hopefully the momentary success will override her suspicion and she won't call her friends for backup."  
  
"Very well my boy," Zedd says and adds another helping of porridge to his bowl.  
  
Kahlan looks over at Cara; the blonde’s eyes are narrowed in a weary expression.

 

* * *

  
  
They lay waiting behind some trees, Richard and Cara at either side of the road, Kahlan keeping guard over the mumbling wizard as he chants his counter-spell.  
  
From her vantage point Kahlan can see red leathers getting closer to their ambush and her heart starts racing as a lump lodges itself at the top of her throat. She has gotten so used to Cara and her attire that she had almost forgotten what a Mord’Sith really is; now the familiar tension is back with a vengeance.  
  
She can see the monster clearly now, thin and tall and arrogant; walking calmly, her eyes constantly scanning the sides of the road. Kahlan's heart skips a beat when the tall woman passes Cara's hiding spot but the beast just carries on. Able as the Mord’Sith are, they are no match for Richards's woodsman skills - the hiding spots he had chosen for all of them proving the fact once again.  
  
The woman takes a few more steps before Cara springs forth and tackles her to the ground. Kahlan can't help her sense of dread and she leaps out of her hiding spot before even Richard can get to the two prone Mord’Sith. Cara winds her right arm to deliver a debilitating blow to the other woman, but before she gets the chance the woman speaks.  
  
"Cara, it's me!"  
  
Kahlan's heart sinks further when she sees her friend's surprised look.  
  
"Dahlia?"

 

* * *

 

She is angry at Kahlan; angry at her for always agreeing to Richard's idiotic escapades. Angry that one compassionate blue-eyed look made her feel guilty for not telling the brunette the entire story about Darken Rahl and her son; angry at her for the pins and needles that rushed up and down her arm when the other woman squeezed it.  
  
How is she supposed to learn to master her growing feelings when her Mistress and Lord go off traipsing into the great green yonder? She kicks Zedd's sleeping form; the wizard snores a bit louder but continues to slumber.  
  
She glances over at Dahlia; her old friend is eyeing her with a look that seems to be a cross between an arrogant smirk and hunger, and she wonders what this is really about.  
  
"If I were a wizard traveling with two Mord’Sith...I'd sleep with one eye open."  
  
"Zedd trusts me."  
  
"He doesn't question your loyalties."  
  
"He has no reason to."  
  
Dahlia moves closer. "I'm glad you decided to come with me."  
  
"I came because Richard _ordered_ me to," she answers and once again her hackles rise at her lord's thoughtless abandonment.  
  
"Are you sorry you did?" Dahlia asks, and something about the other woman's tone triggers a sense of recognition in the back of Cara's mind, it speaks to her on a frequency that Mord’Sith do not use, and she finds herself automatically answering on the same level.  
  
"No."  
  
Dahlia grabs her chin and turns it towards her. Cara is amazed to see her old friend's eyes glistening as if they were filled with moisture; impossible she thinks, but before she has time to further investigate, the look disappears and Dahlia is smirking at her knowingly.  
  
"Neither am I,” the taller Mord’Sith says and kisses her.  
  
Cara knows this dance; its familiarity is comforting and stabilizing in the vacuum that has been left inside her by Richard's and Kahlan's departure.  
  
She kisses Dahlia back and quickly takes charge. Maybe a little physical release will quiet down the warning lights that have been constantly blinking at the back of her mind - warning lights that oddly seemed to be colored wisp-blue instead of the customary red.

 

* * *

 

Richard is smiling, he is feeling relaxed, at peace; he knew the Spirits wouldn't let this go without giving him a chance to be alone with Kahlan, to straighten things out - to convince her of their love.  
  
"This isn't so bad," he says.  
  
"Sleeping in a cold dark cave," Kahlan states with a sarcastic smile.  
  
"Being alone together," he answers.  
  
Her smile wanes.  
  
"I can't remember the last time, it's nice," he adds hurriedly, and is pleased to see her smile return even though it seems to be a bit confused.  
  
She fiddles with her bag, clears her throat. "I...uh...hope Cara's all right," she says, looking at the cave floor.  
  
Richard's happy energy is dwindling.  
  
"-and the boy," she adds almost as an afterthought.  
  
"If anyone can take on the Sisters of the Dark, it's the son of Cara and Darken Rahl," he says seriously, trying to convey a subliminal warning in his tone.  
  
"Can you imagine what that child is going to be like?" she stops her fiddling and looks at him.  
  
"Smart," he says worriedly.  
  
Kahlan huffs, sounding half exasperated, half fond.  
  
"Stubborn," she adds with a smile almost gracing her lips, she then shakes her head.  
  
"Powerful," Richard continues.  
  
"Enough to take over the world," Kahlan adds sadly, "who could stop him?"  
  
Richard suddenly smiles; this was exactly the opening he was hoping for.  
  
"Our child," he says softly. He knows how much the idea charms Kahlan.  
  
She looks at him unsurely, but then smiles and plays along.  
  
"Well, our child would have to be...a girl," she tests him.  
  
"A girl that could take out a dozen D'Haran soldiers just like her mother,” he replies - the answer well prepared. She seems pleased.  
  
"Well, I'd want her to have a good heart..."  
  
Inadvertently the image of Cara enters her mind and her eyes stray from his face. "...like her father," she finishes weakly, the sentence sounding more like a question than a statement.  
  
_Where did that come from?_ She thinks while her heart gives a painful lurch, a slight panic suddenly rises within her.  
  
"Well, I'd want her to have her Mother's eyes," Richard nears her and she recognizes his mood, he wants to kiss her. That's exactly what she needs, she thinks, Richard's familiarity is comforting and stabilizing.  
  
"No...no...I'd want her to have your eyes," she says, giving in to the familiar play between them.  
  
And they kiss. She pours herself into it but there's something missing and she thinks she might cry.  
  
"Richard," she stops him, wanting to tell him of her growing panic-that something has changed, that something is wrong-he is after all her dearest friend; but she can't find words to articulate it.  
  
"We can't," she settles, the excuse sounding lame to her own ears, but she needs to physically distance herself from him for a while, to figure out what's going on.  
  
"It's all right - it's just a kiss," he says, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, "Zedd and Cara aren't here," he adds and tries to go in for another one.  
  
"That's-" she stops him, "the problem." He looks at her in surprise, and suddenly she fears she said too much.  
  
"When they're with us it's easy for me not to grab you and kiss you, but-" she knows she's back-pedaling, but she can't come up with anything better.  
  
"Without them...there's nothing stopping us except...good judgment," she tries to convey her growing confusion in the sentence, but he doesn't seem to understand.  
  
"When we kiss like that...I feel that judgment slipping away.”  
  
Which is the truth, she thinks, _only not for the reason you think, my sweet Richard_.  
  
But Richard understands her even better than she does. Looking into her confused eyes he can see the unavoidable truth that his sword alluded to.  
  
Following her departing back and jittery movements with his eyes, a heavy sadness settles over him. He closes his eyes and finally concedes.

Exhaling, he lets her go from his heart.

 

* * *

 

Why do they never listen to her? _Of course_ it was a trap, Cara thinks while her aching body swings tiredly off the chains attached to the ceiling.  
  
She is hurting, she is tired, and she is running a fever. They have been at it for so long that she does not perceive time anymore, when Darken tires Dahlia takes his place. She knows both her torturers are at the end of their rope.  
  
Creator, she misses Kahlan.  
  
She opens her less swollen eye and peers at the slim woman who is circling her. Dahlia is wearing her “domination smile” Cara calls it, a minute curling of her lips that does not reach her eyes - her signature feature. While other Mord’Sith tend to use more direct and savage methods of intimidation, Dahlia had always exhibited an eerie calmness that would unnerve even the most confident of pets.  
  
It is as if she knew your fate was so intrinsically placed in her hands that she could afford to offer civility out of the magnanimity of her power. She is the most polite Mord’Sith Cara has ever met, and effectively one of the scariest.  
  
Self control, Cara thinks, that was always the key to Dahlia’s technique. She gives the impression of a cat lazily eyeing its prey – body relaxed for the moment – but one can sense the focus, the eyes rapidly shifting back and forth, plotting, plotting…  
If cats could smile they would sport Dahlia’s dead grin just before they went for the kill.  
  
“You think her beautiful,” the other Mord’Sith says, bringing Cara out of her musings. “The Mother Confessor.”  
  
“I do not _think_ her beautiful,” Cara sneers, “it is not an opinion, it is the way her flesh is sculpted, the way her skin is stretched over bone, the quality of her muscles. You have eyes Dahlia, I do not think Kahlan is beautiful – she is.”  
  
"How very poetic," Dahlia mocks, her eyes narrowing for a moment - the only indication Cara has of her dissatisfaction with the answer, seeing as how her peculiar smile is still firmly in place.  
  
_Why?_ Cara thinks all of a sudden; _why did you develop such terrifying self-restraint Dahlia?_ Other sisters did not turn out so…constipated; she frowns at the other woman. Dahlia’s head moves back a little and her smile leaves her face as if she heard Cara’s silent question.  
  
“Such an odd expression. What are you thinking now my Cara?” Dahlia asks, her hands coming up to pet the side of her captive's jaw and hair. She once more starts dropping feather light kisses at the coroner of Cara’s bruised mouth, where she knows it’ll hurt the most.  
  
_This is entirely the Wisp’s fault_ , the thought enters Cara's mind, she never would have stopped to contemplate the nature of her fellow Sisters when she was a proper Mord’Sith.

The notion tickles a newly discovered deposit of humor she did not know she possessed, she half smiles - she’s been hanging around Zedd for too long.  
  
Dahlia feels the grin and stops to look at the bruised face and suddenly Cara knows how she’s going to win this, this thing - this game that Dahlia is playing. She knows how to shatter the other woman’s self-control.  
  
“She doesn’t hide herself behind masks,” the blond says.  
  
“What?”  
  
She's so tired of this, she's so tired period.  
  
“You asked me why I think Kahlan is beautiful. It is because she doesn’t wear masks,” Cara says while closely watching for the other Mord’Sith’s reaction. “She does not need to fake her true self, and you know me - I have always appreciated directness.”  
  
She leans forward to whisper in her captor's ear. “That’s why even Triana, as oafish and simpleminded as she was, was more attractive to me than you.” She pulls back with the cruelest smirk she can muster.  
  
“Poor little Dahlia, all your quiet plotting was ever so tiring," she sing-songs to the rapidly angering Mord’Sith. "You could never amount to the others and the sheer magnificence of their rage," she adds sharply. "You really think I’d want to come back? To what, to you?” she spits on the ground.  
  
"You're wasting my time Dahlia, please call Darken back," she sees the other woman's eyes widen in surprise, and suddenly she feels powerful, she's on a roll, she can't stop, nobody wins these games when playing against her - she's the best there ever was. And so she twists her voice to the most malicious and dismissive pitch she can manage.  
  
"You are so unattractive to me, I'd rather have him abuse and take me right here and now than spend another second of my time on you, for Keepers sake, I’d rather spend my time in the company of a Confessor!”  
  
Nobody has done this before; nobody has confronted Dahlia head-on since she joined the Mord’Sith. She had always managed to intimidate, bluff, or avoid the notice of anyone who could single her out - masterfully dancing between any direct lines of battle, maintaining a safe mediocrity - jealously protecting her secret.  
  
Though apparently in the end her sacrifices had cost her the respect of the only person she had ever craved notice from.  
  
After days of torturing Cara without reprieve, days of seeing the other woman literally dangling before her - so close yet still just out of reach, remembering seeing her with that whore of a confessor, after hearing those hurtful words come out of her childhood friend's mouth, after a lifetime of being repressed behind magically enforced emotional barriers, Dahlia finally snaps.  
  
Her walls crumble in the face of a horror, a horror not trying to get in – but trying to get out. A feeling, so large, so painful that she cannot hold back a sob as she starts waling blows on the bound woman before her.  
  
Betrayal, that’s what Dahlia is feeling, Cara can sense it through the beating she’s receiving – all out and violent, pure violence - there is no attempt at aiming in her ministrations, no finesse.  
  
Cara thinks that she might very well die in the next few moments from the sheer amount of blunt force trauma she is receiving. She thought she’d get at least two more days before they needed to administer the breath of life.  
  
Cara's nose is broken and her lips are busted, both showering a steady waterfall of blood on the floor. A few more cracks from an agiel and she thinks her cheekbone might cave in.  
  
_So much anger_ , she marvels. She herself has tasted the bitter flavor of betrayal when her sisters had left her for dead, but the emotion festered into a feeling of revenge, it focused her - not ripped her apart like what’s happening right now in front of her to Dahlia.  
  
She squints through her swollen eyes between the poundings, trying to get a better look at her abuser.  
  
_Why is your reaction to betrayal so different?_ Her mind woozily thinks, she wishes that she could see what was going on in her lost sister’s head.  
  
Wait a minute; her swollen eyes widen fractionally, maybe she can.  
  
Cara takes a deep breath and surrenders to unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

She opens her eyes to a rainless storm; the black clouds are swirling into several ominous tornadoes in the distance, their tails touching upon a dark fathomless sea.  
  
In front of her she sees a small ragged island protruding from the waters. It’s entirety is composed of one jagged rock upon which-half carved from its surface-is a looming Mord’Sith tower.  
  
Lightning flashes inside the belly of a distant cloud, its muffled rumble reaching her after a few seconds.  
  
"I need to get in there, I need to see what's inside," she tells the wisp who is floating next to her.  
  
She starts rowing the rotting little rowboat she is in.  
  
By the time she's braved the enormous black waves her arms are so tired that she can barely tie the dinghy to a rocky column in the naturally formed cove she had docked in. The skies have darkened further and it starts to rain. Behind her she can hear the boat's wooden sound is it bumps into the rocks with every push of the angry surf.  
  
"How will I get in there, I could not see a door, only one high window."  
  
The wisp's white light is comforting, its halo slightly shimmering in the raindrops. It points to the side of the natural steps she's been climbing to where a length of rope is coiled, complete with a three-pronged hook at its end.  
  
"Thank you," she tells it. "What's your name anyways?" she asks while moving the cord over her head and settling it crosswise on her back.  
  
"Yeda," the wisp answers her.  
  
"Well Yeda, here goes nothing." The wisp follows her silently as she traverses the remainder of the steps.  
  
By the time she gets to the base of the tower she is soaking through and through. She looks up at the structure's looming visage. There is no way her rope can reach that far - she is getting dizzy just trying to spot the window.  
  
"It will work," Yeda says from near her shoulder.  
  
She takes a few steps back and starts twirling the edge of the rope that has the hook attached to it, after the spin gets sufficiently fast she lets go with an extra heave and watches the cord fly upwards in an endless arc.  
  
Eventually she hears a metallic clink and she tugs on the rope several times.  
  
"It is secure," Yeda informs her.  
  
She takes a moment to stare at the glowing creature.  
  
"Are you a boy or a girl?"

The wisp shrugs.  
  
"Alright. Let's go."  
  
It takes her forever to climb, she knew the wall was higher than she thought, but even still, it should not take her this long.  
  
She has almost fallen every time she's tried to look down. The thought makes her eyes stray downwards and she slips a bit on the damp masonry. Eventually though she reaches the window but just before she peeks in she gets apprehensive.  
  
"What will I find inside?"  
  
"A truth," her wisp tells her.  
  
She takes a deep breath and lifts her face over the windowsill.  
  
Inside the tower is Dahlia. She is wearing a black confessor dress and is crying uncontrollably over the body of a young filthy-looking child.  
  
"Why is she wearing a confessors dress?" she asks Yeda.  
  
"It is Dahlia's truth, but it is your eyes that are seeing it."  
  
She frowns and turns back to the scene and tries to swing a bit to the left to get a better look at the body in Dahlia's arms.  
  
When she does her eyes suddenly widen. It is her, her younger self from between the tree's roots, staring lifelessly at the ceiling.  
  
The rope slips in her hand and she plummets down.

 

* * *

 

She wakes with a yelp that is half pain, half bloody gurgle. Dahlia stops the barrage of abuse to stare at her with wild tear-filled eyes.  
  
"You love me," Cara says in wonderment, "after all they've done to you, you've managed to stow away a pure feeling underneath all that brainwash. You were even aware of it all this time!" And now she laughs; a bitter mirthless chortle.  
  
"Oh Dahlia, you would have made such a better Wisp than I."  
  
Dahlia looks at her as if she is mad. "You understand then why I had to bring you back," she half says, half pleads.  
  
"Dahlia, if you love me, please let me go, Zedd and I _have_ to get back to Kahlan and Richard, this is important."  
  
"Why would I let you go, I have you now in body, and after the Lord Rahl breaks you I'll have your love as well."  
  
"Dahlia, it doesn't work that way, trust me, I know."  
  
"How do you know?" the tall Mord’Sith shouts angrily, "Did this Richard fellow teach you about it? Or was it your precious Kahlan? No Cara, you will be mine, there are things in this world-magical things-that are more powerful than hope, more powerful than will, and one of these things is the Lord Darken Rahl. Even as we speak he's got a group of those Sisters of the Dark chanting around one of your agiels, and when it's over he will come down here and he will break you, and then you will be with me again like you once were." She says the last part resolutely, her calm appearance marred only by the tear marks on her cheeks.  
  
"Dahlia, look at yourself, you know it's not true, you know that whatever Darken does in the next few hours will result in something that is no longer me."  
  
"Well," the other woman straightens, "apparently it's the most I'm ever going to get," she says and then turns around and leaves the chamber.

 

* * *

 

She has lost consciousness again, she knows because she is sitting on her favorite rock at the edge of her tree's canopy.  
  
The first thing she does is stand up and run to the trunk to check on her other-self.

The wild-child growls at her from between the roots.  
  
Good, she sighs in relief, the apparition in Dahlia's tower was a part of the other woman's psyche and not the real child. Well, at least as real as her other-self truly is.  
  
She goes back and sits heavily on her rock.  
  
"Yeda, I think we're in big trouble."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Dahlia says that in a few hours Rahl will come down to my cell and use some Powerful Magic to break me, do you think that's possible?"  
  
"Sadly, all beings can be broken given enough time and the right leverage," her little friend answers.  
  
Cara quiets down and tries to think of a plan to get her body out of its current predicament, but her thoughts seem to have a difficulty grasping at anything pragmatic or real.  
  
“You are in a dream Cara, your mind is going to have trouble understanding anything superficial, let alone come up with analytical plans,” the wisp says.  
  
“I don’t think being tied up and beaten in a Mord’Sith dungeon, awaiting some Powerful Magic to erase my will can be classified as superficial,” she growls at her friend.  
  
“Nevertheless, it is not the way you will attain your answer.”  
  
“Fine,” she huffs and they sit like that for a few more moments. After a while she slumps her shoulders and turns back to the wisp.  
  
"Dahlia thought that I would love her back after I was returned to the fold." She rubs at her forehead. "I…think I used to love her, but not the way she loves me, at least not the way she wants me to, I was Mord'sith. Still it is more than I can say about anyone else I knew back then." She lowers her hands and raises her eyebrows in a tired expression.  
  
And once again they sit quietly.  
  
"Yeda…” Cara cautiously begins again, “tell me about love. Real love, you know - like what Richard and Kahlan feel for each other."  
  
The wisp seems to hesitate for a moment, as if it wants to say something but then changes its mind. Eventually it floats to the edge of the branch that it was perched on and starts explaining.  
  
"Very well, but if I am to speak about Love, then I mustn’t forget to include her sister Hate. Love and Hate are in a lot of ways the different faces of a same coin: they both describe a relationship with a person that becomes very close and very important to you, having said that, these sides are very, very opposed to each other. Have you ever truly hated someone Cara?"  
  
Cara lowers her eyes to her hands and tenses.  
  
"Darken Rahl," she finally says; her voice very quiet and very bitter.  
  
"Your lord and master? Are the Mord’Sith not supposed to love their owner?" the Wisp says in a rhetorical sort of tone.  
  
"Adore, yes. Worship, yes. Love? I guess we're supposed to do that as well, but I don't think I've ever met a Mord’Sith that has loved Darken Rahl. At least not _real_ love - the mere thought of it is preposterous."  
  
"Preposterous? Why is that? And in any case, how can you be so sure?"  
  
"I...I don't actually know." Cara looks up in surprised confusion, "I've never really thought about it until now. I guess...the obvious answer would be that the Mord’Sith ways do not foster an environment that allows for love."  
  
"That is very true, which makes Dahlia's achievement even more impressive. So let me tell you then about Hate and Love - The twin serpents, the most rare and powerful of emotions." Yeda floats at Cara's eye level.  
  
"We wisps classify them as shaping emotions, for they both require so much room inside a person's essence that most often the will-scape needs to be rearranged to accommodate their largeness. The energies that are required for such a reshaping are more than one person usually has in their arsenal, and as such they need to be taken from other parts of the will-scape. That is why more often than not, these emotions become all consuming," the wisp informs.

"But unlike other shapers-like depression, trauma, mania, epiphany and such-these emotions also constantly travel the corridor to and from your will-scape: the Path. In fact their largeness means that they inhabit both your own will-scape, the Path, and the person to whom you are connecting."

Cara's sense of dread is growing but her little friend does not seem to notice.   
  
"-If not for the opposing quality of their energies, these emotions could easily be confused as one and the same. But as I said, their quality is very different: One is aggressive, and the other passive. One is war, and the other is surrender. One is a defense-mechanism used to protect your sense of self from a perceived enemy, the other is a willful and dangerous yielding - the ultimate risk."  
  
"So my hate for Darken Rahl protected me from completely being subjugated to his will, and Dahlia's love for me has cost her part of her mind."  
  
"Yes, the amount of effort that both of you had to dedicate to these emotions has literally changed your will-scape, who you are."  
  
"That is terrible," Cara breathes. "I will never fall in love."  
  
"Hmm..." Yeda hums and Cara gets the feeling that her friend is biting its shiny little tongue.  
  
"Have you miraculously stopped hating Darken Rahl?" Yeda asks.  
  
"No."  
  
"Then you have no choice about who you love either. These are powers that are nearly impossible to prevent or disuse."  
  
"But it has nearly destroyed Dahlia."  
  
"Nonsense, it has not. Cost her - yes, but it has also saved her, it preserved a piece of her humanity in the face of all the abuse that she has been subjected to from the moment she was taken, not even you can claim that."  
  
"I guess you're right." And suddenly it hits her "Wait! If a shard of Dahlia’s heart could survive for so long, then that means that maybe there's a way for me to preserve a piece of myself in the face of what Darken plans to do-this way I might relay a message to Richard and Kahlan the next time I see them–maybe I’ll be able to tell them what’s happened and that they are not to trust me.”  
  
“Cara, you are trying to think analytically again, this will not solve the greater problem,” Yeda warns.  
  
“Is there some magic you know of? Maybe like the maternity spell Nicci once cast on Kahlan-"  
  
"Cara, we are Wisps, our powers stem from the natural realm, things that are. I cannot cast a spell on you, I can only guide you to things that you already-"  
  
"Yes, but maybe Zedd can. If I can just reach him in time then-" she rises from her rock and smacks her bunched fist into her open palm.  
  
"Listen to me!" Yeda shouts, her light flashing as she bellows. Cara shuts up from the mere surprise of it.  
  
"Love is the ultimate surrender," the wisp stresses, "let us talk then of the concept of surrender. Have you ever surrendered Cara?"  
  
Cara looks towards the wisp with an angry frown, but she still sits down with a huff.  
  
"I don’t have time for this, and anyway Mord’Sith would rather die than surrender," she answers gruffly and crosses her arms. "Even when we retreat, it is only to regroup."  
  
"Yes, that is true. But what about you Cara, have you ever surrendered? Remember, you were not always Mord’Sith, and you haven't truly been one since our birth."  
  
Cara turns her head angrily away from the wisp which causes her eyes to land on the lazily flowing river. Her eyes widen in shock.  
  
"Yes?" Yeda asks.  
  
"Kahlan," she whispers.  
  
“You said that a Mord’Sith environment does not allow for the fostering of love, you also said that a Mord’Sith never surrenders. The two aspects are connected.”  
  
“I was incorrect, Mord’Sith do not surrender to an enemy, but we do surrender to our Mistresses and of course to the Lord Rahl.”  
  
“Do not confuse forced submission with true surrender Cara, for one is the outcome of someone breaking you and the other a product of you accepting a great truth.”  
  
Cara demeanor quiets in contemplation, her shoulders relax and she leans forward towards the wisp.  
  
“Let us talk then on the concept of _acceptance_ , for that is what Love is when one surrenders with grace.”  
  
“With grace,” Cara echoes, “you mean with trust.”  
  
“Trust, yes, blind trust even – to the degree where one could call it faith. Faith that our sacrifice will be acknowledged in our beloved’s eyes, that they will be kind, benevolent in the power they hold over us. It is a vulnerability we give without guarantee of survival."

Yeda's light is almost warm now.

"But if it is accepted, if it is reciprocated, oh Day-Wisp! It can trump the most powerful of wizard’s magic because its essence, like us the wisps, is anchored in the natural world; in what _is,_ not what _might be_ or what _might cease to be_.”

  
“So a third type of magic then, not subtractive or additive.”  
  
“Yes, do you see Cara? You have at your disposal a force more powerful than all of Rahl’s magic.”  
  
“I have at… You think that I love Kahlan,” Cara states in amazed understanding.  
  
“I _know_ that you love Kahlan. _You_ know you love Kahlan.”  
  
Yeda drifts to float in front of the river so that Cara’s gaze is facing it as well.  
  
“You let her in so completely that she has become a permanent fixture in your will-scape. You knew it the minute you saw Moppet releasing your pain from the boxes and into the waters, and then witnessed Kahlan’s stress and sadness the next day.”  
  
“Moppet,” she echoes the name, “the child?” She looks over at the roots of the tree. “My Father used to call me that…” she murmurs to herself.  
  
She rises from her perch and walks towards the trunk of the tree with purpose; she now knows what she must do.  
  
When she gets close to the mass of protruding roots she kneels beside them, ignoring the aggressive vibe directed at her from the frightened being hiding in the shadows.  
  
“Please come out Moppet, I promise I won’t hurt you,” she coos at the skittish thing as gently as she can.  
  
The child just hisses at her.  
  
She looks down at herself; she is wearing her Mord’Sith leathers and so she slowly and very visibly starts stripping down, all the while talking to the child, explaining what she’s doing, presenting every item before discarding it to the grassy ground. By the time she’s struggling to wiggle out of her pants, the child’s vibe has run the gamut from aggressive, to apprehensive, to curious to amused. She finally manages to free her foot from the pant leg with an annoyed expletive, and hears a giggle emanating from between the shadows.  
  
“Oh, so you think that’s funny do you?” she narrows her eyes in mock offence, the expression marred by a smile.  
  
The child has scooted close enough to the edge of the shadows that she can make out a dirty blond head nodding at her with a cheeky grin. She doesn’t want to ruin all the progress she’s made, so she sits and waits patiently and naked with her legs crossed on the grass.  
  
After she senses that they’ve both gotten sufficiently accustomed to each other’s presence, she slowly opens her arms. The child runs in to them and she quickly has to brace a hand behind her before the momentum can tip them both backwards.  
  
Her other-self is younger than she thought, three - maybe four years of age. Large green eyes, button nose, bare feet and dirty face.  
  
She rises with Moppet still in her arms and slowly walks towards the river bank.  
  
“Have you been inside?” she asks the youngling.

The child shakes her head in denial.  
  
“Let’s try okay?”  
  
Moppet looks alarmed for a second, but then tentatively nods her head 'yes'.

Cara slowly wades inside. The water is surprisingly warm, not hot, but definitely more temperate than a normal river should be.  
  
When they are far enough for the water to reach just under her breasts, she dunks them in up to their chins and starts cleaning her charge.  
  
“Listen.. Kid, uh... Moppet.” She tucks wet strands behind now clean ears. Looking into the unnervingly familiar green orbs that are staring at her, she thinks of what the wisp has been telling her - of what she must do now, and of what awaits her in the future.  
  
"I...I love you, you know," she blurts awkwardly, her voice scratching and she coughs, but the sincerity cannot be mistaken by either of them.  
  
The child wraps her arms more firmly around her neck and ducks her head under Cara’s chin in an instinctual hug, the tiny weight feeling more like a sprawling on her shoulders than a formal embrace.  
  
The Mord’Sith breathes deeply and closes her eyes, holding herself steady while trying to process the wonderful ache in her chest. After a while she realizes that it will probably not abate any time soon, though the sensation does not seem to be debilitating, so she carries on.  
  
“Listen to me Moppet,” she whispers into tiny ears. “Something bad is about to happen.”

The arms around her neck tighten and the little body stiffens.  
  
“I’m going to do my best to try and stop it, but I don’t think the tree is strong enough to protect you anymore.”  
  
The child gives a frightened whimper.  
  
“If something does happen, something unusual, if you see fire – especially if it’s green fire, I want you to run to the river and stay inside okay?”  
  
The child just buries her face more tightly into Cara’s shoulder.  
  
“This is really important Moppet, the water will protect you. Fire can’t cross into water, okay?” She leans back to look into frightened green eyes.  
  
“Okay?” she asks again.  
  
The child nods with an upset pout.  
  
“Good. Yeda will help you too, right Yeda?”  
  
“Of course,” the wisp says worriedly, “we will do all that we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	11. XI

Darken Rahl sneers at the bound woman and unceremoniously shoves the enhanced agiel into her stomach.  
  
Cara’s body bows back, a perfect arc of tension and pain. She lets out a terrible scream.

 

* * *

 

Kahlan does not usually remember her dreams-and if she does the memory is usually akin to a vague impression of a situation or idea- certainly not something that she is emotionally connected to. She also rarely has nightmares, which is a surprising quality for a person of her background and experience.

That is why when she does get a dream that is exceptionally vivid or prophetic – she pays attention...

 

It is nighttime; the moon hangs full and larger than it should be in a sky tinged sickly-green.  
  
She is running through a forest and the forest is burning, burning, burning with the fires of the underworld.  
  
She is terrified and lost and in constant fear that the flames licking at her feet will catch the long trailing sleeves of her white confessor dress. She does not know why she’s here, she does not know how to get out, and the lack of knowledge is slowly crushing the last shreds of her calm.  
  
“Help!” she screams in a long throaty cry. “Somebody please help me!”  
  
She is crying while she runs aimlessly through the woods, her tears streak down her cheeks unabashed. All around her the forest is falling apart – slowly succumbing to the ever multiplying green flames.  
  
From the corner of her eye she sees a bluish light streaking next to her at eye level. She tries to turn her head to fully look at it.  
  
“Calm yourself Kahlan! And don’t stop running! She is terrified and in pain, what you are feeling is her panic projected into you.”  
  
“What?” Kahlan almost trips as she sobs. She’s at the ends of her wits, though the sudden appearance of the wisp has given her something else to focus other than the overwhelming confusion and fear that are threatening to overcome her.  
  
“Just follow me, I will guide you to where you need to be, and please try to understand - these are not your feelings. You need to be strong and separate yourself from them, you need to contain the chaos because her regular barriers have been shattered by a most sinister magic and she is no longer capable of doing so herself.”  
  
Kahlan hears the words coming out of the wisp’s mouth but none of it is making the slightest sense. Regardless, she suddenly finds herself focused again, in control; as if she were previously being manipulated by an invisible puppeteer and has all of the sudden regained autonomy.  
  
“What is going on?” she yells at her tiny guide while they both dash madly through the woods, leaping over burning logs, skirting falling branches.

If this were not a dream she would be foaming at the moth and spitting blood a long time ago from physical stress; as it is, she can feel every pull and burn of her raging muscles but none of the exhaustion.   
  
“We will be there shortly,” says the wisp.

  
  
They reach a clearing - the heart of the forest.

To her left is a misty river. Thus far it is the only thing that is not reflecting the green lights cast by the fires, in fact the waters seem to emanate their own shimmering blue light from deep within, the calming color plays off the swirling vapors as they lazily rise off the liquid surface.

The river’s pace and serenity stand in sharp contrast to the colossal burning tree located to its right.  
  
“Hurry!” the wisp says, “she can’t last much longer!”  
  
“You mean there’s someone in there? Spirits!” She rushes to the tree.  
  
When she gets closer she is horrified to see a small child trapped beneath the tree’s massive roots. The child is bawling. Her little body is packed tightly into a ball and pressed into a massive root that has yet to be touched by the fire.  
  
Kahlan tries to get closer but there are many fallen branches that are burning in her way.  
  
“Mommy! I want my mommy,” the youngster keens, sobbingly stretching the word in a childish plea.  
  
“Please honey, I can’t reach you, you have to come to me!” Kahlan cries. She is on her stomach, trying to crawl underneath the fallen branches.  
  
The child has not heard her. Her little eyes are scrunched up tightly, her small body is shaking with terror.  
  
“Oh please, Spirits!” Kahlan exclaims as she feels a new panic rising within her. She grabs the long sleeves of her dress and wraps them tightly around her forearms, then with a deep breath she starts crawling forward.  
  
The fire’s heat is like nothing she’s ever felt before. It is beyond the sense of burning, it is beyond the pain of an agiel; but her eyes are firmly locked on the rocking body in front of her.  
  
Eventually she reaches her target. She swiftly grabs the small blonde and starts pulling back. Her heart sinks when she turns her head and sees that the meadow between their current position and the river is completely engulfed in a 10-foot wall of flames.  
  
She tucks the child closer to her breast–preparing to shield her with her body 'till the bitter end–when suddenly she sees a cloud of blue-white dots shimmering towards her location like a sideways gust of rain.  
  
“Quickly Kahlan, we will make a path for you to the river!” a wisp says. 

She does not know if it is the same one from before, there are so many of them.  
  
They swirl in one great mass, moving like a swarm of sparrows, and Kahlan’s heart weeps for the wisps at the edges of the cone who are falling to the ground in little bursts of green fire.  
  
She runs, the child pressed tightly in her arms; the distance is not that far but it seems like forever.

They crash into the water in a terrible splash. The host of wisps tiredly settles on its surface.  
  
“We must accompany you,” says a wisp from somewhere near her, “we cannot survive for long without the presence of our sister to ground us, our forest is too far away for us to reach in time,” it sighs as it floats on the gentle waters.  
  
Kahlan still doesn't understand their weird wording but she has more pressing matters to attend too. She looks down at the terrified little bundle in her arms.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she hears the little voice mewling from her chest.  
  
“For what little one?” Kahlan asks gently.  
  
“I didn’t run on time, I got stuck, and then I got scared.”  
  
“It’s all right,” the brunette coos, “we’re all right, see?” she nudges the little head with her chin, trying to coax the girl into look up at her.  
  
The child lifts face to Kahlan and the brunette nearly gets a heart attack, because staring back at her are the unmistakably familiar green eyes of-

 

* * *

 

“Cara!”  
  
Kahlan wakes with a start.  
  
“What?” Richard groggily wakes as well.  
  
“Cara! Oh Richard we need to go back, now!” she violently shakes the frazzled man.  
  
“What?” Richard asks again, still not fully comprehending what is going on.  
  
“We have to leave. Now Richard. Cara is in great danger.” She rises and starts packing their bags, her hair still in complete disarray from her previous slumber.  
  
“Kahlan, calm down, you’ve had a bad dream.” Richard sits up, still rubbing at his eyes. Kahlan continues packing.  
  
Richard rises and moves to rub the Confessor's arms. “Calm down, tell me what’s going on,” he prods in a patient voice. He ducks his head to try to get a look at her eyes, and is alarmed to see her crying.  
  
“Kahlan,” he now firmly grabs both her shoulders and stairs into her eyes. “What is going on?”  
  
“Richard, Cara… she’s… something happened, please, I don’t know, we have to go back.”  
  
He pauses and takes a deep breath.  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks.  
  
“Yes.” She answers, her jaw tightens resolutely.  
  
“All right, let’s go.” 

 

When they get to the wall of the cave Kahlan grabs Richard’s hand.  
  
“You need to go back, you’re too close to stop now.”  
  
“But Kahlan, if what you say is true then you’ll need all the help you can get. If Cara’s in trouble then Zedd must surely be incapacitated as well…”  
  
“I know,” she squeezes his hand, “but your mission is more important than any of this. I need to try and help our friends, but you _must_ get to the Stone of Tears in time.”  
  
Richard sighs. “I hate splitting up. You’ve all helped me so much on this quest, it seems completely wrong that none of you will be there when I find the Stone.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Richard, we’ll meet up at the Pillars, you’ll see,” she smiles sadly at him.  
  
He suddenly grabs her in a crushing hug.  
  
“Listen to me,” he whispers hoarsely in her ear, “we are going to win this and we'll all be alive coming out the other side, I won't accept anything else.”  
  
Kahlan smiles again and and presses her forehead to his. She closes her eyes but Richard doesn't, instead taking a moment to observe her at close range.  
  
“I want you to be happy Kahlan, after we win this–and we shall–I just want you to be happy.”  
  
“All right.” Kahlan's smile turns confused.

Richard does not smile back, only nods. “Time to go,” he says.  
  
They step through the hidden cave door; the compass’s whine escalates in protest.

Once on the other side they both take a deep breath and kiss each other on the cheek, they then turn around and head in opposite directions – Richard back into the cave, and Kahlan off into the nearby forest.

 

* * *

 

_Cara was right_ , Dahlia acknowledges with a sinking feeling in her gut; whatever Lord Rahl did to her has erased her old friend and put a monster in her place.  
  
It has been three days since Lord Rahl’s very special torture session. The tall Mord’Sith is walking stiffly to the lower bathhouse, her body aching from the painful intercourse she and the blonde had just shared.  
  
_‘Share,’_ she sarcastically berates herself, there was no sharing involved in what had just transpired.  
  
She does not mind roughness, like all Mord’Sith she can hardly enjoy anything if there’s not at least a small degree of aggression involved.

No. What disturbs her about their recent activities is how dead she is left feeling afterwards as well as the psychotic glint in Cara’s eye-like a cruel child ripping the wings off a butterfly-detached, analytically curious, taking pleasure in the sense of _power_ , but not in the dying creature’s _pain_.  
  
Cara was not connecting with the pain she was inflicting; she was not reveling in the blood, in the physicality of her ministrations, in the sweat, in the screams, in the _life_ of it all. Even the harshest forms of torture were based upon a certain give and take.  
  
Cara was not taking-not pleasure, not excitement-her entire demeanor seemed bored and superior. Cruel.  
  
She was definitely not giving; at least not in the traditional sense of a Mistress and her subordinate. The dynamic was…simply not there.

Dahlia was left with nothing more than excruciatingly clever and painful cuts, ones that were given to her as if she were a corpse on the autopsy table - passionless and effective.  
  
Like a sociopathic child ripping the wings off a butterfly.  
  
_What have I done?_

The thought troubles her for the entire rest of the day.

 

 

When night comes she dreams of a dark tower with a single window from which she can see the entirety of the world.  
  
She looks out at the view. In an incomprehensible distance she can see a tall woman dressed in white walking in a dark forest, beside her floats a night wisp.  
  
“Help her,” says the wisp, suddenly floating right there next to the windowsill.  
  
Dahlia looks back at the forest, at the woman and the wisp. A looming sense of inevitability descends upon her shoulders.  
  


When she wakes up the next day she feels heavy and sad, but not empty.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/).


	12. XII

Kahlan has no idea what to do and she wishes Richard were here to share in her growing sense of panic, his unrealistic optimism always manages to blunt the harshness of reality to a manageable level - Sometimes you really do need a fantastical and irrational kind of hope to keep you going.  
  
But the fact of the matter is, she's walking aimlessly.  
  
She has no clue as to where Cara and Zedd are. Truthfully, she doesn't even know if they are really in trouble; she just might have made the most dangerous and irresponsible mistake of her life-one that might cost the world its Seeker-all based on a feverish nightmare in a lonely cave.

Well, not lonely, after all Richard was there too, but the feeling was present nonetheless.  
  
Odd, it has been awhile since she felt lonely. It's still there, right now. She unconsciously slows down her march and rubs at her chest right above the solar plexus.  
  
She frowns.  
  
Bah, there's no time for wool-gathering. That Mord'Sith snake said Cara's son was taken to a 'Sister of the Dark' stronghold in the hills of Eritrean.

Kahlan hastens her steps once again and hooks her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. _Eritrean it is, it’s as good a start as any_ she thinks. Her Jaw tightens and her chin sticking out resolutely, first she needs faster transportation.  
  
By nightfall she reaches a village and manages to purchase a barely-decent horse with what little is left of her money. Her pack is considerably lighter now, no provisions - she’ll have to hunt for her food for the rest of the journey. This assessment makes her realize that she hasn't had to hunt since she met Richard. Or Cara.  
  
_Cara._  
  
What a terrible vision to have dreamt, it was so real - the pain she felt when rescuing the girl from the burning tree was as genuine as anything she’s ever experienced. She looks down at her forearms half expecting them to be blistering red and black. But no, just goose bumps.  
  
She pats her horse’s head as she leads him to the town's edge.  
  
"Sorry old boy but we ride through the night. This might all be a horrendous blunder but if I'm going to do it, might as well do it whole-heartedly."  
  
Her mount snorts and shakes his mane but nevertheless starts galloping at breakneck speed. She figures she can reach the town of Eritrean in three days if they keep a good rhythm. Her steed can rest then. 

 

* * *

 

“My lord, the last merchant we’ve caught claims there’s a special artifact to the north of here, may I have your leave to retrieve it?” she asks after wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand.  
  
“Do you really think this is the right time to go traipsing after trinkets Dahlia? We are about to spring our little trap on the Seeker. Your lack of focus is a bit alarming,” Darken Rahl says while he pets her head.  
  
He is sitting on a throne; she is kneeling between his thighs, retying the laces at the crotch of his pants. She wonders if his reluctance to let her go is to do with the unimportance of her requested mission or because he just doesn’t want her to leave.

Lately she’s been taking more and more of the duties involving the entertainment of their lord; usually a task that Cara would fulfill–her being renowned as one of the Lord Rahl’s favorites–but ever since her rebreaking and the subsequent…changes to her demeanor, the lord has been coming to her for his needs.

He only seems to take Cara when there is another sister involved in the activity. She can’t blame him really, he might have not noticed his own subconscious preference yet, but Dahlia had finally managed to articulate the problem a few days ago, at least in her own mind.  
  
Cara has become a reverse baneling. Instead of an anguished living soul residing in a dead body, she is an apathetic dead soul living in a live one. Maybe not even that.  
  
Regardless, Lord Rahl’s new fondness for Dahlia-as flattering as it is-is putting a kink in her own personal mission.

How ironic, that she should choose to betray him now, now that he is on the cusp of success, now that she is favored in his eye.  
  
She looks over to Cara.  
  
_Are you worth it?_ she asks her in her mind.  
  
The blond looks bored; she is leaning against the wall and using a vicious looking knife to clean some blood from under her fingernails.  
  
“What do you think Cara?” Lord Rahl asks the apathetic Mord’Sith.  
  
“Let her go, I’m the only one you need to retrieve the Stone of Tears, and since I’m going to succeed you might as well have the other Mord’Sith do something useful,” Cara says still looking at her fingernails.  
  
Lord Rahl chuckles. “Ah, such confidence, yes, I am so very pleased that you are with us once again.” He looks hungrily at the blonde, and Dahlia, who is still level with his crotch notices his interest growing.

However, when Cara finally lifts her eyes, her smile manages to be both queerly intense and dead at the same time. Dahlia can see the small shiver that runs through her Lord's body as well as the shrinking of his excitement.  
  
“Hmm… when you give me that smile I sometimes fear that you are plotting my demise,” he muses out loud. “It’s a good thing that the agiel that broke you was magicked, ensuring your absolute loyalty.”  
  
He grabs Dahlia’s braid close to her head without looking at her.

“Leave us,” he tells Cara.

The other woman turns around and sashays out the door.

When they are alone he finally looks down at Dahlia and shoves her head back towards his groin.  
  
“Please me again pet, and you can go on your little field trip.”  
  
“Of course Master Rahl,” Dahlia smiles coyly at him. In her head she is already making preparations.

Plotting his demise.

 

* * *

 

Kahlan’s horse started frothing at the mouth two miles back. She can see the poor beast’s muscles shaking through the staccato movements of his gallop. She pets his sweaty neck and leans in close.  
  
“Soon old boy, hold out just a bit longer.”  
  
Luckily they are on a straight dirt road surrounded by low vegetation and the occasional oak tree. Any other time she would enjoy the pastoral scenery, but right now her mind can only appreciate the fact that the terrain is lowering her horse’s chance of tripping as well as granting her a decent view of anything that may try to jump them.  
  
True enough, she can see someone in red sitting in the middle of the road about a thousand spans away from her.

_Fool_ , if they do not move soon they'll be trampled.  
  
_Maybe they are deaf?_

_Or hurt_.  
  
As she gets closer, details of the distinct clothing become more apparent; Kahlan reaches for her dagger and urges her horse to gallop faster.

She will indeed trample the bitch, and if she survives, she'll get a blade through the heart as well.  
  
_Why isn’t she moving?_

Obviously the Mord’Sith has seen her, and yet she remains seated cross legged in the middle of the road.  
  
They are moments from being within dagger-throwing distance of the leather clad woman when Kahlan pulls harshly on the reins of her horse to stop him. The beast screeches to a dusty halt with a neigh of protest and a flickering of his tail.  
  
“Dahlia,” Kahlan says in a low, dangerous voice once she recognizes the woman.  
  
“Mother Confessor,” the Mord’Sith answers calmly and looks to a spot just in front of the hooves of Kahlan’s steed. Kahlan follows her gaze and sees an agiel resting in the middle of the road. She looks back at the other woman and sees that hers is missing from its holster.  
  
“Where is Cara?”  
  
“Cara has been captured, tortured, and broken; I am here to help you fix this.”  
  
“I accept the first part of your sentence and none of the rest,” Kahlan informs her.  
  
“Nevertheless it is the truth.”  
  
“You expect me to believe you?”  
  
“No, and you cannot read me, I know. But there are other ways of getting the truth – I submit to anything you would demand of me.”  
  
“I have neither the time nor the patience to torture you, tell me where Cara is. Now.”  
  
Dahlia starts smirking at her, but her face reverts back to its neutral expression when she sees the Mother Confessor’s hackles rise.  
  
“Cara is in a tower east of here filled to the brim with Mord’Sith since Lord Rahl is there as well.”  
  
“Darken Rahl has her…” Kahlan breathes.  
  
The brunette suddenly throws her dagger at Dahlia; it lodges itself in her upper chest with a satisfying thunk. Dahlia has not moved, has done nothing to resist.  
  
“I am afraid your blow will not kill me Confessor,” Dahlia informs her through gritted teeth.  
  
“I know, it’s a clean throw, nothing major is punctured. It will, however, make you lose consciousness long enough for me to transport you to the town of Eritrean without me having to worry about being stabbed in the back. If you remain weak for several days after, well, that just makes things easier for me, doesn’t it?” Kahlan’s foggy voice informs Dahlia as the image of the Mother Confessor blurs in front of the Mord’Sith.

Once again Dahlia wonders if this was all worth it before she passes out.

 

* * *

 

Dahlia wakes up in a cozy low ceilinged room - an inn by the looks of it.

She is only wearing a pair of underwear and a large peasant shirt that is very loosely tied at the front. Underneath the shirt she can feel her chest and shoulder bandaged.

Both her wrists and ankles are bound to the bed, to her right she can see the Mother Confessor and a weaselly looking man peering at her.  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
“To help you free Cara.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“We could not break her the regular way, so Lord Rahl had her agiel infused with dark magic - courtesy of the Sisters of the Dark. The outcome however has changed her in an unexpected way, a way I am now trying to fix.”  
  
“Unexpected way, hah, tinker with dark magic and everything is unexpected…” Kahlan angrily murmurs under her breath.  
  
“Ah-ah, only questions. Sentences will confuse her and the effect will wear off faster,” the man whispers to Kahlan.  
  
Somewhere in the back of her mind Dahlia wonders what they’ve done to her, she instinctively resists but then remembers her promise to submit to anything the Mother Confessor demands. Regardless, whatever they gave her is so strong, she thinks she couldn’t resist it even if she wanted to.  
  
“Does Darken Rahl know you are here?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Does Cara know you are here?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Do you intend to harm me?”  
  
“Only after Cara is freed from the spell.”  
  
“Why do you need me?”  
  
“I had a dream.”  
  
Kahlan stiffens. The man next to her looks at the brunette curiously.  
  
“What is it?” he asks the Mother Confessor.  
  
“Were you alone in the dream?” Kahlan ignores him and trains her gaze on Dahlia.  
  
“No, I could see you as well, from afar.”  
  
Kahlan relaxes.  
  
“There was also a night-wisp,” Dahlia adds. And Kahlan stiffens again and grows pale.  
  
“You can release her Sebastian,” she tells the man.  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks the brunette who is still staring holes into the wounded Mord’Sith.  
  
She doesn’t answer him so he starts working on the binds at Dahlia’s wrist.  
  
“Will you harm others when you help me?”  
  
“Only if they get in the way.”  
  
Sebastian finishes untying her and moves to leave the room. Dahlia watches the Mother Confessor rise to thank him, praising the Spirits that allowed her to meet him again at this town and for him to have a truth potion among his wares.  
  
_A truth potion then_ , very rare.

It seems the Mother Confessor really _wasn’t_ planning on torturing her.

Pity, she was hoping to know the great Kahlan Amnell in that capacity - after all, there is much one can glean about a person when being tortured by them; maybe that way she could have understood what Cara sees in her.

Alas, that experience does not seem to be written in her cards so she settles on studying the other woman instead.

She is attractive, no doubt; tall, fit, strong in both body and mannerism; possessing a natural authority over people by the example of her interaction with that merchant, Sebastian.  
  
She is also classically beautiful as Cara pointed out. Dahlia squints her eyes; she does not know how to look for the other part, the part that Cara found so attractive.   
  
For how does one look for a _lack_ of a mask?  
  
Kahlan is about to leave the room, her back turned, while Dahlia is still busily scrutinizing the retreating form; that is perhaps why the Mord'sith is completely blindsided by the Mother Confessor's last question.  
  
“Why do you care if Cara is fixed or not?”  
  
“Because I’ve been in love with her since we were eight.”  
  
Dahlia’s eyes grow wide and she instinctively clamps her hand over her mouth to her further mortification.  
  
Kahlan whirls around sharply and stares at her.

The Mother Confessor does not look disgusted, or pitying, or even surprised. She just…looks.  
  
“Very well, get some rest,” she tells Dahlia, “tomorrow I will try to get someone to take a better look at your wound; we leave the day after.”

Kahlan then exits the room.  


_No masks._  
  
It is a strange feeling, the realization, this absolute _knowledge_ \- not opinion, that the Mother Confessor will never exploit the discovery of Dahlia’s flaw-her most crucial vulnerability.

Furthermore, she is sure the Confessor won't even _tell_ someone about it.

Not because they have a pact, not because she was ordered to do so, not because keeping it a secret is somehow beneficial to Khalan; but simply because that is how the Mother Confessor works - she has no need to hide her methods with deception or subterfuge.  
  
Another Mord’Sith might see this as a weakness but Dahlia is too conniving and shrewd to underestimate the veiled power she had just witnessed.  
  
Kahlan Amnell is clearly capable; point in fact - she found a way to Dahlia’s deepest truth without any need for brutality.

The Mother Confessor does not wear a mask because she can afford not to, and all those who surround her can lean on the stability that that axiom provides while still being assured that the brunette can get the job done.

Dahlia inhales slowly. 

What a novel concept, how very unsustainable; and yet here they are - the last confessor and a wounded Mord’Sith, preparing to rescue the Lord Rahl’s favorite from right under his nose.

Not to mention the fact that said favorite might possibly be magically insane and probably opposed to the rescue.  
  
Nevertheless, she feels that they can do it; Kahlan Amnell can do it. She herself will surely die - but the Mother Confessor will survive and will take care of Cara.

Dahlia knows this; it is once again this strange knowledge - not opinion.  
  
_Trust_.

It eases Dahlia’s mind.  
  
Yes, this was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/), [yummypumpkins](https://yummypumpkins.livejournal.com/)


	13. XIII

Kahlan always knew her life was going to be different from that of normal folk. A Confessor's power is a part of her from birth, like a third eye or an extra arm - different but natural. 

That is why Kahlan spent the first few years of her life surrounded exclusively by her own kin. Sure, she witnessed how other children were raised—how they interacted with their parents, their peers, their community; what expectations were set before them, what freedoms they were allowed; but up until her mother died she never felt lonely or oppressed by her abilities anymore than a cat feels oppressed by its tail.  
  
Of course, it all came crashing down the minute her mother died and Frederick was freed from his confession.

After that, hers and her sister's life turned into a living hell of terror and shame. Kahlan's entire adolescence was spent coping with the crushing guilt of her own seeming monstrosity, as well as the overwhelming fear of failing to protect her little sister from her father.  
  
Eventually, Mother Confessor Serena’s agents managed to track them down. Kahlan and her sister were taken from Frederick’s custody to be properly trained at the Confessor’s Palace in Aydindril.  
  
Once again Kahlan's life was back on track–scarred and changed-but on track; and while a Confessor’s path is fundamentally dissimilar to that of normal people, Kahlan still thinks that her younger self would not have been able–not in years beyond count–to think up such a bizarre scenario as the one she is in right now.

  
Dahlia's arm and shoulder-brace have prevented her from wearing the top part of her Mord'Sith outfit; she is still wearing the red leather pants and holster—complete with agiel, but her torso is covered with the large white peasant tunic that Sebastian had given them. She is kneeling beside their nightly camp fire with her back to the brunette, stirring the soup one-handedly. 

It smells amazing.  
  
Kahlan's association with Cara had led her to believe that Mord'Sith were incapable of cooking, that it was probably deemed to be a "weak" skill to have and was subsequently beaten out of them with the rest of their creative outlets. Then again Dahlia is fundamentally different from any other Mord'Sith she's ever encountered.

Dahlia can feel, she is aware that she can feel, and has apparently gone to great lengths and sacrifices not to lose this "flaw".  
  
  
"Your gaze is making my back itch, Confessor. Don’t fret - it’s not poisoned. If I wanted to kill you, you’d have died yesterday."  
  
Kahlan hides her surprise by narrowing her eyes at the other woman even though she has not yet turned to face her.  
  
"I'm just surprised at how good it smells, 'is all."  
  
"Ah." Dahlia intones, "I see." 

"I suppose the Seeker's idiotic sense of fairness resulted in a policy of 'equal-sharing of camp duties' within your little fellowship," Dahlia continues, "And _that_ led to Cara cooking."  
  
Kahlan blinks.  
  
"Did you just...was that a joke?" she asks in suspicion.  
  
"No, I was just stating the truth; but if said policy seems as laughable to you as it does to me then I guess you are not as daft as your reputation claims."  
  
Kahlan ignores the bite while canting her head to the side as she tries to figure out the woman before her.

In the distance the crickets chirp and the wind rustles the forests' canopy.  
  
Still facing the fire, the Mord'Sith smirks smugly as she blows on her spoon and samples a taste from her concoction.  
  
  
Dahlia is very clever. She _thinks_ , she _thinks a lot_ \- entire conversations and monologues take place in her mind; it’s one of her lesser secrets, but no less punishable.

She has always been this way, making internal comments about the world around her, entertaining herself, keeping herself company. It helps her scheme; she hashes out ideas with the voices in her mind. They applaud her when a plan succeeds, they berate her when it doesn’t, and they laugh at her jests.

If her Sisters ever got wind of even a _smidgen_ of the inane conversations that have run through her head over the years, they’d destroy her immediately. The Mord’Sith ways do not allow for such frivolity.  
  
She has tried ending this habit on several occasions, but each time the silence would drive her mad with boredom and emptiness.

Those were the times that she’d come close to contemplating suicide – another Mord’Sith taboo. After all, a Sister's life is not her own – damaging the Lord Rahl’s property is unforgivable. So she would go back to her inner snarking, accepting that this odd outlet of hers was there to stay.

Yet another secret to hide from preying eyes.  
  
  
Dahlia adds more salt to the stew and relishes the sense of annoyance emanating from the woman behind her.  
  
Kahlan truly doesn't understand Mord'Sith culture-that was obvious from the beginning-but spending time with her has allowed Dahlia to appreciate this notion to the depths and breadths of its potential.  
  
'No masks' Cara called it, no subterfuge or bigger plan. No need to watch your every step or facial expression lest it divulges a weakness. The freedom to unveil a small portion of her secret self without fear of consequences is exhilarating.

For the first time in her life Dahlia can vent a little bit of the voices in her mind. She's been dropping queer little jokes and quips here and there.

Every time-just for a blink of an eye-the Mother confessor gets a look of utter mystification, like a person that has been struck by lightning on a clear summer day - more shocked by the improbability of such an occurrence than the electricity itself.  
  
The response is harmless and addicting, and Dahlia finds that at times she needs to forcefully reel in her wit lest she behave _completely_ out of character.

She thinks such a loss of control might very well unravel her psyche – that her tightly arrested personality would not know how to stop, would come rushing out of her in a stream of articulated words and witty comebacks until nothing is left behind.  
  
  
"Dinner is ready," she informs Kahlan.

She rises and turns with two bowls of stew, one of which she gives to the still seated Mother Confessor.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Hmm."

They eat in silence, eyeing each other with surprisingly little wariness.  
  
Before leaving the village of Eritrain they had spent an entire day hashing out their next steps.

The clipped yet extensive planning sessions had granted the Mord'Sith an appreciation for the Mother Confessor's positively ruthless wit.

Kahlan's creativity and pragmatism had impressed Dahlia more than she would like to admit; Kahlan's willingness to achieve their goal by any means necessary had meant that there was surprisingly very little disagreement between them.  
  
_Here is a woman that is prepared to get dirty_ , she thinks. _Here is a general that is able to relinquish her pride and comfort in order to attain the greater victory_. The Mother Confessor does not think like a hero, she thinks like a butcher, and Dahlia greatly approves.

She is brought out of her musings when Kahlan rises to rinse her bowl and put it away, afterwards she remains standing close to the fire, looking pensive as she stretches her hands forward for warmth. The light from the flames illuminates her from below, dancing underneath her chin, her upper lip, the bottom of her brows - giving her an otherworldly quality.  
  
"Will you be able to hide your wound by the time we reach the temple?" she asks Dahlia.  
  
"The healer knew his craft, he hog-stitched the gash. By tomorrow it will be strong enough to not rip in a light skirmish."  
  
"A hog stitch?" She turns around to look at Dahlia.  
  
"Yes, a stronger suture that is rarely used on humans since it leaves a very visible and ugly cicatrix, but it heals faster."  
  
"Ah..." Kahlan starts but then stops herself at the last moment.  
  
"Were you about to apologize Confessor?" Dahlia snorts, "Don't. It will cheapen my battle scar. After all-" she continues airily, "how many Mord'Sith can claim they got close to _The_ Mother Confessor and lived to tell the tale?"

Dahlia takes a moment to pause and look to Kahlan with exaggerated faux innocence, "Your mark will always be close to my...heart," she finishes while patting her chest over the bandage.  
  
Dahlia's expression grows ever more smug as she witnesses the other woman shake her head in bewilderment.  
  
"You are a very odd Mord'Sith," Kahlan tells her.

For her part, the Mother Confessor has yet to decide if Dahlia has been genuinely cracking jokes and bad puns all day, or if she's just been subtly insulting her. Probably both.

"Where did you learn to cook?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation to a new and hopefully less confusing subject, but also out of honest curiosity.  
  
"My mother was one of the cooks at the only tavern in Stowcroft. Not the most prestigious skill to pass to your child, but there you have it."  
  
"No, no, my Mother taught me how to cook as well-" Kahlan quickly adds. 

She never thought she'd get to hear a Mord'sith answered a personal question, and with such a pedestrian answer at that.

"-Well, she started anyways; I was just barely old enough to begin learning when she died," Khalan murmurs as an afterthought.  
  
Dahlia seems surprised and suddenly focused, "Your mother died?"  
  
"Yes." Kahlan looks at her wearily.  
  
"That means that your father...he was a criminal, yes?"  
  
"Yes. But that is all in the past, I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"A child Confessor in the hands of a criminal," Dahlia muses out loud. "How very dangerous."  
  
Kahlan folds her hands and stairs at her somewhat challengingly from her spot next to the camp fire.  
  
"It's funny that you should say that, seeing as that is exactly what Darken Rahl has been after for so long."  
  
"That's different."  
  
Kahlan snorts, "How is it different?"  
  
"Lord Rahl is deserving. He has a right to rule people, he protects D'hara, he leads us. Your father was nothing more than an arrogant thug."  
  
Kahaln shakes her head in amazement. "Very well, let's _say_ that Darken Rahl is D'Hara's rightful leader - there are still things that even he does not deserve."  
  
"Hah, like what?"  
  
"Well. Your body for one."  
  
This time Dahlia is the one to snort as she avails her full attention to the Mother Confessor.  
  
"Lord Rahl's dominance is a comfort to his subjects; it proves that he will not be swayed by any infatuation to a single individual. He dedicates himself to becoming more powerful and as such all of D'Hara becomes more powerful. He can take whatever he wants because he is strong, and his strength is a testament to the greatness of our people." She recites with zeal, her body defiantly leaning forward in her seat.  
  
Long moment pass as Kahlan looks at her with an unreadable expression. 

Even the forest seems to have quieted down as if attuned to the brunette's persona, and slowly Dahlia's conviction gets tinged with a sense of uncertainty.

Kahlan's mien has changed and... grown as if she has cast a magical aura all around her, the sensation is not unlike the testimonies Dahlia has heard - the rare ones describing the feeling just before a Confessor unleash her powers.

Dahlia tenses.  
  
Kahlan grabs a largish stump from next to the fire and walks briskly over to Dahlia. She sets the log in front of the Mord'Sith and proceeds to sit on it with her elbows resting on her thighs.

She leans forward until their faces are uncomfortably close and Dahlia finds herself leaning back despite herself.  
  
"You forget Dahlia, that I am Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, High Ruler of the Midlands," she tells the Mord'sith, her closely inching face making it seem as if the words themselves are pushing against Dahlia's face.  
  
"I too have the power to take whomever I please. Moreover, when I take - I take completely." She says very calmly.

"And yet I do not."

Kahlan pulls back a bit.

"So tell me Dahlia, am I any less powerful, any less capable than your glorious Lord Rahl?"  
  
There is a pregnant pause in which Dahlia narrows her eyes and considers Kahlan's words, and a part of Kahlan is struck again by how different this one is: she thinks, she contemplates, she evaluates—she _listens_.  
  
"If you were a Mord'Sith I'd think you were playing mind games with me."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"Because true subterfuge cannot be sold without a dash of truth. When an opponent offers truth, one must be cautious—truth is a dangerous weapon; and there _is_ truth in your words."  
  
Kahlan’s aura deflates with a sigh. She rubs her forehead and stands up.

She looks down at the neatly seated Mord’Sith and laments an existence that twists the one living it into seeing truth as a form of aggression.  
  
_This is going nowhere,_ she thinks to herself, _might as well get some rest_.

Kahlan moves to her sleeping mat and arranges it for the night, but before she settles in she throws one last question behind her back.  
  
"So is it working?" She inquires with a bitter smile. "Are my dangerous words swaying you, Mord'Sith?"  
  
She does not expect an answer; the question was presented in a rhetorical manner. Nevertheless Dahlia responds, looking at the brunette with a penetrating gaze.  
  
"It would be interesting to be ruled by a person of your caliber, Kahlan Amnell. You would make an impressive Lord Rahl."  
  
"Oh?" Kahlan asks surprised.  
  
"Yes. Indeed, the pinnacle of power...it is when one's dominance is so complete that there is no need for demonstrations, no need for fanfare, no need for...masks."

Dahlia looks appreciatively at the brunette as she grabs a thick fur form her own sleeping mat and covers her shoulders, she has first watch.

"Hmm, like how you refrain from bedding Cara." The Mord'sith adds as an afterthought.  
  
"What?" Kahlan sits up in alarm.  
  
Dahlia raises an eyebrow, but otherwise does not seem more conniving than usual.  
  
"It would be easy for you even without your Confessor powers. Cara's love for you puts her devotion on par with the one a Mord'Sith has to the Lord Rahl, possibly even more." The blond states plainly.  
  
Kahlan gets a flustered look on her face, she is too far away from the fire for Dahlia to be sure, but she thinks the Mother Confessor might even be blushing.

How odd.  
  
"I... _we_ are both devoted to her," Kahlan responds. "That is why we are both on this suicide mission after all. That is what true friendship demands."  
  
Dahlia stares at Kahlan; a muscle twitches under her eye.

She might have been mistaken, but she thinks that the brunette has just purposefully misunderstood her meaning, so just to clarify she adds,  
  
"Friendship cannot spur such devotion; it is not a powerful enough force. Cara _loves_ you; she is _in_ love with you, the way I am in love with her."  
  
There is a long pause after which Kahlan bursts into a forced and awkward laugh. Dahlia just stairs at her quizzically.  
  
"Wait, are you serious?" Kahlan asks after a moment passes and Dahlia's expression does not change, "Why would you say that?"  
  
"It is the truth - remember the truth is a dangerous weapon, and I am not the strongest Mord'Sith nor am I the most ruthless. So I take great care to notice it."  
  
Kahlan seems uncomfortable. "That is impossible." She denies bitterly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Nobody loves me on their own. I am a Confessor, remember?"  
  
Dahlia lifts an eyebrow.

"Huh, won't the peasants be all heart-broken when they learn that the stories of the Seeker's undying love for you are just rumors."  
  
"Yes, well, that's different."

Kahlan gets up and paces to the campfire while rubbing her arms.  
  
"Why?" Dahlia asks after standing up to follow her.

They stand side by side in front of the flames in contemplative companionship.  
  
_Such a bizarre life I lead_ , Kahlan takes a moment to think.

She is acutely aware of the woman standing next to her.  
  
"Well...he is _The Seeker_ , I am his Confessor—it is pretty much destined."  
  
"Is that why he is questing for some stone and you are here saving his Mord'Sith?"  
  
Kahlan turns her head and stares at the other woman, she frowns, she opens her mouth to speak, she closes it.  
  
"You know, as odd as this is going to sound, I think you'd make a great Seeker," she informs the Mord'Sith.  
  
"Does that mean we'd be destined to a tragically impossible love?"  
  
Kahlan freezes and stares at her with that deliciously confused look.  
  
"Is that another joke?"  
  
Dahlia turns her head back to the fire and smiles her secret smile.  
  
"You are so not what I expected from a Mord'Sith," Kahlan informs her with a shake of her head.

 

* * *

 

It takes them two more days to trek to the Mord’Sith tower where Cara is supposedly held. They stop half a league from the stronghold to prepare.  
  
“If Darken is killed in this attempt I will have Zedd destroy his body for good. There will be no one to challenge Richard’s claim to the D’Haran throne,” Kahlan informs the Mord’Sith as the other woman expertly ties her hands behind her back.  
  
There is a moment of panic when Kahlan realizes that there is nothing to prevent Dahlia from marching her up to the steps and betraying her at the threshold, after all, she’s done it before. But then she notices that her hands are being bound almost delicately – the rope twisted in a way so as to not chafe, her wrists positioned as to not create stress on the bones and muscles.  
  
"You could join us you know, I think you'd fit in," she continues.  
  
"Well, at least now you _are_ blatantly trying to sway me." Dahlia finishes off the knot.  
  
"Why not? Honestly."  
  
“Richard would be a terrible Lord Rahl; he does not have the stomach to do what’s necessary.”  
  
Dahlia is teasing her, by now Kahlan has learned to recognize the tone.  
  
“Though you definitely do – Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor, High Ruler of the midlands, executioner of criminal minds – and if you marry him you’d be a ruler of D’Hara by proxy. Hmm, Maybe I _will_ switch over.”  
  
This time Kahlan doesn’t know if the Mord’Sith is teasing or not. “Really?” she asks.  
  
“No. I’m only doing this for Cara. And I’m only doing this for Cara out of weakness. Face it Confessor: I am living proof that emotions are a dangerous flaw in a Mord’Sith – and that’s the truth.”  
  
Kahlan looks at her and shakes her head.  
  
“…Stubborn, the whole lot of you. Your logic, while perhaps based on some truth, is twisted to the point of wrongness, just like you said – dangerous.”  
  
“Not everyone can live without a mask, Mother Confessor. There are some things in this world that cannot shine.” A pained look filters over Dahlia’s features – the first _real_ show of emotion that Kahlan has seen the woman exhibit. It is short lived as Dahlia's smugly teasing grin reappears swiftly.  
  
“Though it would mean that as our new queen, you too would get the privilege of sampling the Mord’Sith. Maybe our tragically impossible love _is_ destined after all,” she says with a tug on Kahlan’s now collared throat.  
  
“That’s not funny.”  
  
“Of course not.”

 

* * *

 

There is a commotion at the entrance to the Tower.

Cara rolls her eyes as Darken rushes down excitedly, motioning for her to follow. The entire tower is there to bear witness to Dahlia strutting in with a smug expression on her face.  
  
"Greetings Sisters, Cara, Master Rahl," she nods her head to the other blond and bows to the lord.  
  
"Look what I found lurking about the countryside," she smirks and tugs harshly at the chain in her hand, propelling the bound woman in white to the ground in front of her.  
  
Kahlan Amnell looks up from the dirt defiantly, her eyes shooting daggers at Darken in lieu of her actual ones.  
  
Behind him, everyone fails to notice as sickly black and red veins surface from underneath Cara's skin, criss crossing over her face and neck as if trying to pull back the shine that had suddenly started to emanate from the blonds' completely whitened eyes - a shine not unlike that of a night-wisp.  
  
I moment passes and the markings disappears, Cara frowns and scratches her throat. She shrugs and follows the procession as they lead the Mother Confessor to Lord Rahl's favorite torture chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [asher_601](https://asher_601.livejournal.com/), [romansilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romansilence), [simplesetgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo).


	14. XIV

The highest room in the tower is the oddest and most well equipped torture chamber in the building; it is also Lord Rahl's favorite.  
  
It is a peculiar room, windowless and shaped like an egg. Thick black candles sit on a large chandelier that is made out of human skulls, providing the only lighting while somehow managing to _add_ to the sense of claustrophobia that the space already possesses.  
  
"Do you like it?" Darken Rahl asks conversationally as he makes a gesture with both his hands, palms open and facing upwards, as if he is a innkeeper presenting a room to a guest.  
  
"I designed it myself," he adds. "Notice the shape and the grate at the center of the floor. Any...fluids that get splashed around are drained to the bottom of the room. They then cascade down through the entire height of the tower for all to see. This way, in a small manner, every layer of the tower can be a part of the art that I, the Lord Darken Rahl, create. Is it not beautiful? Am I not benevolent?" he asks, watching as three of his Mord'sith violently strip the Mother Confessor Kahlan Amnell.  
  
When they are done ripping the clothes from her skin, they force her to her knees. One Sister grabs the Confessor's long dark curls and pulls her head back painfully, shoving her Agiel to the base of Kahlan's throat. The Confessor barely has time to choke before she is assaulted by agonizing pain.

The two other Sisters quickly release the binds at the back of Kahlan's hands, each grabbing one hand firmly as Dahlia comes forward to secure a metal shackle around each of the spasming woman's wrists. The moment the shackles are in place, all four pull back hastily before Kahlan has a chance to recuperate from the Agiel.  
  
"Nicely done." Darken Rahl smirks as he watches Kahlan throw up. "And not even one attempt to confess any of them—I'm disappointed, Kahlan Amnell. I was hoping for a little more resistance."  
  
Kahlan opens her eyes, trying to gulp in some air beyond the nausea and the bile. She is still kneeling on the floor, but manages to spit far enough to hit one of Rahl's boots.  
  
"That's more like it!" he laughs, clapping his hands. He taps his chin as he looks down at his boot. "How very crude, though not unexpected. After all, you are just a boorish Mid-Lander. A boorish Mid-Lander desperately in need of some manners," he finishes, a malicious glint in his eyes.  
  
He motions with his finger to the two guards standing next to a large iron winch. They wordlessly begin winding the contraption, which in turn slowly raises the shackles at Kahlan's wrists.  
  
Kahlan is forced to her feet, then to her toes, and eventually is left hanging freely less than a foot off the floor.  
  
Darken casually strolls closer to her, his hands clasped behind his back as he leers at her. "Did you know that at one point I actually thought of taking you as my Queen? You would have received your own room and servants, clothes and food, and my protection. But lately I've been thinking to myself—why do I need to deal with the whole woman..." His smile turns more sadistic as he raises his hand towards her bare sex, "...when all I need is her womb?"  
  
  
"Master."  
  
Darken halts and then slowly turns to the source of the interruption, his demeanor dripping with annoyance.  
  
"Yes Dahlia?" he asks dangerously.  
  
"Please Master." Dahlia bows her head demurely. "She is still dangerous; please allow me to retrieve a Rada'Han from storage before you touch her."  
  
Darken Rahl relaxes.  
  
"Ahh Dahlia, my beautiful bitch, are you worried for your Master?" He walks closer to the Mord'sith.  
  
Dahlia kneels on one foot.  
  
"It's just..." she looks up from under hooded eyes, "we just got you back, _please_ , we were so lost without you," she blinks, practically batting her eyelashes.  
  
"My poor pet." Darken places his hand on her shoulder possessively. Dahlia stiffens a bit, but otherwise does not move a muscle.  
  
"Very well, run along and get the collar."  
  
He looks back at the swinging Mother Confessor.  
  
"You, my dear, will have a little more time to imagine all the fun that will ensue after our little recess."  
  
He motions with his chin for the others to file out.  
  
"You have half a mark to find a Rada'Han and prepare her for my return," he informs Dahlia over his shoulder as he exits as well.  
  
The chamber door closes and Dahlia is left alone with Kahlan.  
  
  
"Are you alright?" they ask each other at the same time.   
  
"Am _I_ all right?" Dahlia asks incredulously. "You're the one swinging naked in the Lord Rahl's favorite torture chamber."  
  
"I saw him grabbing your injured shoulder, I just-"  
  
"Don't worry about me, you insane woman. Here-"  
  
She grabs a stool from the side of the room and places it under Kahlan's feet to allow her to stand.  
  
"Are you sure it's not too dangerous?" Kahlan asks, even though her wrists and shoulders are immensely grateful for the reprieve.  
  
"Nobody would dare enter this room without the Lord Rahl's explicit permission, but if you do hear someone just kick it to the side."  
  
Dahlia finishes fiddling with the stool and turns to leave.  
  
"Dahlia!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Be careful."  
  
Kahlan expects a sarcastic or flippant remark, but Dahlia just stares at her with a blank expression, nods her head, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Dahlia freezes—just for a split second—when she exits the room.

Cara is leaning casually against the opposite wall of the corridor with a foot bent back against the stone, arms crossed, head down, and eyes hidden under the curtain of her still-loose hair. Dahlia hopes she didn't catch her little slip, but then Cara raises her head to reveal a cruel smile.  
  
"Hello Dahlia."  
  
"Mistress Cara." Dahlia bows her head politely.  
  
Cara stalks over to the door like a predator, snaking her hand under Dahlia's arm to grab the door handle.  
  
"Dahlia. You're in my way."  
  
"No I'm not, Mistress, since this _way_ is not allowed to anyone but the Lord Rahl. You know that," she adds with a seductive smile, hoping to distract Cara from the chamber and its occupant.  
  
"Is that so?"  
  
"It is."  
  
Cara slams Dahlia to the door by her neck, nearly choking the other woman.  
  
"Capturing the Mother Confessor might have earned you some points Dahlia, but not enough to tell me what to do. Get out of my way."  
  
Dahlia changes her mask, putting on her most superior smile, calculating that it will aggravate the other woman enough to make her want to hear what she has to say.

She is not mistaken. Cara releases some of the pressure from her neck but doesn't let go.  
  
"I'm assuming that your perilous lack of fear has some ill-fated origin?" Cara says while stroking the Agiel at her belt. Dahlia looks down at the weapon, noticing that it is the one that was specifically magicked to convert Cara. Dahlia narrows her eyes, the Agiel is useless when used on anyone but Cara herself.  
  
"Oh Cara, I'm only trying to look out for my beloved sister," she says, her voice dripping with intentional sarcasm. She adds a slow seductive lick of her upper lip for good measure, half gurgling and half laughing when Cara slams her against the door again.  
  
"What are you up to little conniver? Hmm? Should I take you to my room and extract the answer for myself? After all, it _has_ been quite a while."  
  
"I don't have time for this _Mistress._ " Dahlia swiftly changes her demeanor again. "I need to find a damn Rada'han and collar that bitch. If you want to take a peek behind this door, by all means do so, but next time it'll be my arm against your throat. Master Rahl will demote you to the lowest of slaves for disobeying his orders."  
  
There is a pregnant pause after which Cara shoves Dahlia to the side.  
  
"Fine. You do that, but afterwards you will report to my chambers," Cara says, stalking away with an air of unvented violence.  
  
Dahlia rubs at her throat and twists her arm a bit, checking if the sutures of her injured shoulder have ripped.  
  
_That was too close_ , the voice in her head, the one that sounds like her first mistress, berates her.  
  
_I had to taunt her; I can't just_ tell _her what to do. I had to make her interested in my reasons - make her listen to my logic_ , she retaliates.  
  
_Very well, but time is short..._ "We have much to do and less time to do it in." Her lips mouth the words as she hurries down the steps.

 

* * *

 

Zedd wakes up from a painful kick to his ribs.

He ignores it.  
  
"Wake up, Zeddicus," a voice hisses at him.

This time he pays attention; since when do Mord'sith call their prisoners by their proper names?  
  
He opens his eyes to a blank-faced Dahlia.  
  
"What do you want, viper?" he asks.  
  
"Funny you should ask..."

 

* * *

 

Kahlan hears voices approaching. For all their sturdiness, Mord'sith torture chambers were purposefully built such that the sound of the tortured could easily travel out. She takes a deep breath, tenses her arms, and kicks her stool to the side, grimacing in pain as her wrists and shoulders support her weight once again.  
  
She spots Dahlia from beneath her hair as the Mord'sith enters first. Dahlia gives her the slightest of nods; Kahlan gives her a look to convey that she understands and that she's ready.

Their plan is unbelievably risky; it depends on a lot of improvising and both their abilities to covertly manipulate the entire playing field. They had talked about all the possibilities and outcomes they could possibly imagine, they had accounted for mistakes and unexpected events, and they had gone over all the strategies and accounted for all the players.

 _Honestly_ , Kahlan thinks, _this is possibly the most precarious stunt I've ever pulled, and yet it's still better thought-out than anything Richard has ever come up with_.

When this is all over she will insist that they recruit Dahlia no matter how grumpy the men act.

 _Spirits, if nothing else, she'd be a good addition for her cooking skills_.  
  
Dahlia extends a hand toward the winch at the corner of the room; the two same guards from before enter the room and man it, slowly lowering the Mother Confessor to the floor. They stop when she can barely reach it with her toes.  
  
Next enters Rahl, behind him Cara.

It is Kahlan's first chance to properly look at her friend, what she sees is wrong on so many levels that she cannot begin to articulate it even in her own mind.  
  
"Cara..." she breathes out.  
  
Rahl sees her lips moving and smirks.  
  
"Cara, my pet, come here," he motions to her. 

The Blond steps up to Rahl and he seizes the hair at the back of her head, forcefully kissing her.  
  
Kahlan flinches instinctively, angrily, her eyes positively burning with furious blue fire.  
  
"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," Rahl says smoothly.

Cara just stares at her with a face both familiar and alien, her hand slowly stroking a blackened Agiel strapped to her thigh.  
  
"Dahlia," Rahl calls to the other Mord'sith. Dahlia bows to him and walks behind Kahlan.

A metallic click reverberates around the room, accompanied by Kahlan's shaky breath as the Rada'han is fastened to her neck.  
  
"Rejoice Confessor: soon you will not be the last of your kind, for you are about to become a mother."  
  
He stalks over and cups her sex forcefully. Kahlan hisses and bares her teeth at him, but Rahl's devious smile only widens. She tries to kick him; Dahlia grabs her legs from behind and immobilizes them before the brunette can manage to land a blow. Kahlan starts to flail, squirming to release her legs from the other woman's grip and Darken Rahl's hand.  
  
"Splendid!" Darken laughs. "This is so much better!"  
  
He turns around and addresses the two guards. "Release her from the shackles and hold her to the ground."  
  
The guards hurry to do his bidding, no longer afraid to touch a Confessor, and Kahlan is soon wrestled to the ground, screaming and clawing at her assailants. Rahl watches from a few paces away as he unhurriedly unties the strings at the crotch of his pants.

In the meantime her captors have managed to maneuver themselves such that Dahlia is holding both her hands firmly above her head while the two guards are holding her legs wide open. They snicker and leer at her while Rahl walks over slowly.  
  
"Cara! Help me!"  
  
The blonde doesn't budge.  
  
"Cara! Help me, please!"  
  
Nothing. Cara just smirks as she continues to stroke her blackened Agiel.  
  
Kahlan starts to cry. Rahl hovers over her.

Dahlia releases her hand.  
  
  
Kahlan's eyes blacken instantly - her face suddenly murderously focused as she seizes Darken Rahl by the throat.  
  
"Got you, you son of a whore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [simplesetgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo)


	15. XV

The entire room goes still, silent, and slightly grey. It's as if time itself has stopped in awe of the Mother Confessor.  
  
Kahlan Amnell is indeed glorious, naked and prone in the middle of the chamber; she lies beneath the domineering and regally clothed form of Darken Rahl with her hand clutched murderously around his throat. Her hair rustles in an unseen wind, her skin glows white with power, and her eyes shine like polished onyx.  
  
_Magnificent_ , Dahlia thinks.  
  
There is something deep within her that rises, urging her to simply continue appreciating this picture. _How beautiful_ , the rare voice of her father says. _Notice the composition, the lighting, the contradiction! A moment of life as pure art. Aren't you glad you live in this world little one?_  
  
He was a painter, her father, and an odd one at that. He would travel from village to village trying to sell his wares while her mother worked at the tavern so that the family could actually make a living. He frustrated her mother greatly, Dahlia knows this, but she loved him dearly and refused to annul their vows even when better and more successful men offered themselves up to her; she never tried to change him either. "Your father is special," she would tell young Dahlia. "Not many people can see the world the way he does."  
  
Killing him was not as traumatic as it was meant it to be, perhaps that is why she came out such a faulty Mord'sith. 

She truly believes that her father—while not outright forgiving her—would not have been bothered by his own demise the way normal people should. After all, his 'peculiar way of looking at the world' meant that both the aesthetic and the ugly were part of life's grander beauty. He would have...appreciated the tragedy that was his little girl being tricked into slaying her own parent.  
  
This belief might be the cause for her numb indifference to his loss, her complete reprieve from guilt.

Then again, she might have always been a monster.  
  
She shrugs to herself; either way, it doesn't matter now.  
  
Dahlia tears her eyes from the brilliant scene a second before the room erupts with soundless thunder. The two guards holding Kahlan's legs are still stupefied by the sudden change in the Mother Confessor. They never stop looking into her fierce black eyes, not even when Dahlia stabs one with her Agiel and crushes the other's wind-pipe with a straight punch to the throat.

Cara is a different story.  
  
The blond moves forward with a homicidal expression on her face. Dahlia rises and takes up a protective stance before Kahlan and Darken Rahl. Cara smirks and Dahlia is surprised to see her brandish her "defective" Agiel.  
  
"Command me, Mistress," she hears from behind her back.  
  
"Get off me and tell Cara to stop."  
  
Dahlia can hear Darken Rahl rising immediately and when he pushes past her, his hand is stretched before him in a halting gesture.  
  
"Mord'sith, I command you to stop."  
  
Cara chuckles as she twirls her black Agiel. She languidly descends the few steps leading down from the chamber's entrance.  
  
"Command me, do you? You were never my master you insignificant little pest."  
  
Darken Rahl frowns dumbly and Dahlia tenses—this is unexpected. The hair at the back of her neck bristles as a shiver runs down her spine.  
  
"Did you really think that the Sisters of The Dark would just...help you?" Cara smirks. "No, _Master_ Rahl, I was given to you as a fail-safe to counter your repeated incompetence. Case in point," she adds.

Cara lungs forward.  
  
Dahlia shoves Darken to the side and blocks Cara with her own Agiel. The weapons crackle and hiss with magic.  
  
"Darken! Protect your Mistress, Cara's Agiel is not defective!" she shouts to the man behind her.  
  
Dahlia can hear him scuttle to do her bidding. She knows from her studies that right after a confession the Confessor is dazed and the Confessed becomes somewhat witless, and that both conditions abate if the two survive long enough.

Dahlia tenses her arm and pushes back against Cara's Agiel. She needs to keep Cara at bay until Kahlan or Darken snap out of it.  
  
"You're wounded. I can feel it," Cara says. "You were never the strongest of the Mord'sith, but now?" She shoves back against Dahlia's Agiel. Dahlia stumbles backwards but never loses her defensive stance.  
  
Cara grins. "This is going to be too easy."  
  
They start to circle each other like predators—one weary, one smug.  
  
"Were you always this talkative?" Dahlia asks irritably. "Or is it a product of spending so much time with the Seeker and the Mother Confessor?"  
  
"Ah yes, the Mother Confessor," Cara says, lunging forward with a fast stab towards the head. Dahlia deflects the swipe and returns it with a kick to the knee that Cara dodges. They continue to circle.  
  
"It always comes back to the Mother Confessor, doesn't it? I see that she has gotten to you as well, and so quickly," Cara says. "Who would have thought that she'd be so important? Certainly not I, but then that prophecy revealed itself...and you know...I had to be sure." She shrugs in a manner half-malicious half-fake before charging forward with a full body slam.  
  
"Who _are_ you?" Dahlia pants, eyes wide after she is smashed against the wall by Cara's charge. Each is holding the other's Agiel-wielding hand at the wrist, Dahlia trying to inch her other hand towards Cara's neck and Cara pressing hers to Dahlia's wounded torso in turn.  
  
"Clever girl," Cara whispers in Dahlia's ear as a red and black weave suddenly pulses under her skin, sprouting over half her face and neck. She bares her teeth at Dahlia, inching her mouth closer to her throat.  
  
Dahlia's free hand suddenly manages to squeeze between their bodies towards Cara's throat; she grabs the buckle of Cara's neck-guard and pulls down while kneeing the blonde in the stomach. She squirms free of Cara's loosened hold to once again take a defensive post in front of Kahlan and Darken Rahl.

The Mother Confessor looks utterly dazed from the effort of confessing Rahl, but seems to be otherwise unharmed. Rahl had taken his vest off to cover her and has seized a wicked looking chain-whip from one of the torture tables.  
  
"You seem especially fond of that Agiel," Dahlia nods her chin towards Cara's hand and the weapon it grasps.  
  
"What, this?" Cara lifts the weapon for Dahlia to see; she throws it in the air, twirling it, and catches it with a flourish.  
  
"Don't play coy with me, Keeper, creature, Cara, _whatever_ you are now. There is no need for it at this point," Dahlia informs her once-friend.  
  
"True, true. Very well." Cara stops her stalking, straightens up, and points with her free hand at the weapon like a school teacher. "This is an Agiel." Cara's face is now completely covered in the red and black blotches; the only features left unscathed are her piercing eyes, the whites and clear green made more prominent by the contrast with the rest of her face.  
  
"Though, you may have noticed that unlike yours, it does not bring pain," Cara continues as the blotches dance beneath her skin. " _This_ Agiel brings _death_. No 'kiss of life' can return a person slain by this weapon," Cara finishes.

She then rushes Dahlia, their weapons clashing and fencing in rapid succession.

Dahlia knows she's in trouble—aside from her wound and the fact that Cara seems to be inhumanly strong, Dahlia constantly needs to keep Kahlan and Rahl at her back. Slowly but surly she grows weak and tired. Her hand starts slipping on her Agiel from the sweat, Her lungs heave for breath from the stress on her wound.

Cara has the stamina and determination of a god, however, Dahlia has the desperation of a person with nothing to lose.

And so they continue, dodging, fainting and trading blows for what seems like forever.  
  
Eventually Dahlia's fatigue is too much to handle. She finds herself kneeling on one knee while still blocking Cara's attacks. She can taste the end mingled with the salt of her sweat.

Cara manages to land a kick to her elbow that shatters the bone completely. Dahlia's Agiel falls to the floor as spittle flies from her mouth with the effort of breathing through the white-hot pain and her gritted teeth; Cara smirks and raises her black weapon for a final blow.  
  
All the voices in Dahlia's head go silent. 

_Traitors,_ she thinks.

And then. "Help her."  
  
Dahlia barley hears the weak whisper from behind.

Suddenly a whipping sound reverberates in the room. Dahlia senses more than feels Darken's chain-whip flying over her head as it coils around Cara's neck. Cara's green eyes grow wide before she is wrenched forward.  
  
Everything happens in slow motion:  
  
Darken's tug on the chain around Cara's throat steals her balance and she starts falling towards the still-kneeling Dahlia.

Dahlia is barely able to wearily grab her fallen Agiel and raise it toward the tumbling woman with her uninjured arm.

Cara's face contorts in fury and pain, the weave on her face swirling angrily.

Darken Rahl appears above Dahlia's shoulder, grabs one of Cara's hands, and twists it behind her back, trying to tie it with the remaining length of chain.

Dahlia keeps her Agiel in place, firmly planted in Cara's abdomen, and pours all of her being into the weapon.  
  
Cara howls. The shriek sounding both like Cara and some other monstrosity.

"Dahlia, watch out!" 

Dahlia turns her head to see Kahlan standing behind her on shaky legs at the edge of the room. Her entire body is pale, her hand is stretched forward, and her face has a look of horror etched onto it.  
  
Dahlia turns back to Cara and sees that Darken Rahl has managed to bind one hand behind her and is tugging the other away from Dahlia's waist—where half of Cara's blackened Agiel is protruding, the other half sunken deep into her side.  
  
"No!"

 

Dahlia topples sideways.  
  
Kahlan rushes to the fallen Mord'Sith, sliding on her knees the last pace. She cradles the woman's head and gently rests it in her lap.  
  
_Huh_ , Dahlia thinks. _I didn't even feel it go in_.  
  
_Well, the thing that was your friend_ did _say that the weapon does not bring pain_.

It was the voice of her first Mistress.  
  
_Ahh, now you're all back_ , Dahlia replies sarcastically.  
  
_Of course, Dahlia,_ her Mistress answers. _After all, you need us. Who else will mourn your pathetic loss?_  
  
Dahlia scrunches her brow at a sudden burning pain. She might not have felt Cara's Agiel, but her body now registers the wound it caused.  
  
"Don't look so stricken Confessor; I willingly signed my life away three days ago, now it is simply time for the Keeper to collect." She coughs a gurgling sound, her teeth and tongue staining red with blood.  
  
Kahlan grabs Dahlia's hand and squeezes it tightly.

Death is never pretty, never romantic, never heroic—even before the end, the body grows grey, the eyes dull, the lips dry—more often than not it is a picture of exhaustion, frailty. Inevitability.  
  
Dahlia's breathing grows pained and labored and her forehead breaks out into a fresh coat of sweat. Her face is as white as a sheet, making the blood being sporadically coughed out of her mouth look almost black. She tries to raise her head from Kahlan's lap and whisper something, but she is too weak. Kahlan bends down a little closer.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"I...I am so close, may I request one last wish?"

Kahlan is alarmed to see a tear free itself from the corner of the Mord'sith's eye.  
  
"Anything," the brunette answers.  
  
"Confess me."  
  
The voices in Dahlia's head promptly rise in a cacophony of rage and protest.  
  
"What?" Kahlan rails back in alarm.  
  
"Please." Another tear makes its way down the dying woman's cheek. "I have betrayed my family, I have presented you the Master I was built to protect; I have no honor left. Please grant me this last selfish wish—which only you, my sworn enemy, can grant. I am flawed; something went wrong and they never noticed. My secret...You see, I really wish...I always wondered...how it would feel...to be...to be completely loved, even if it's just for a moment..."  
  
By this point Dahlia's chin and neck are completely coated with her blood and every gurgled word she utters causes the brunette to wince from instinctual human empathy.  
  
"Please, Kahlan Amnell, even if the sentiment doesn't last past the Confession, at least I'd have that moment."  
  
"Oh Dahlia."

Kahlan feels so much at this moment: pity, sadness, pain, sorrow, grief, tragedy, and just an overall sense of misery for the life this woman was forced to endure. She gently cups the side of Dahlia's neck and closes her eyes.

Kahlan is exhausted but she knows it will not be difficult to confess Dahlia—it will not be difficult to tap into that part of her that loves all living beings.  
  
Because this time it is just. This time the purpose of Confession is absolution.  
  
Slowly the world around them bends as a static current blows through their hair.

The Path between them is tapped—thickening to the quality of a magnetic charge—physical yet not. When Kahlan opens her eyes, they are completely black; Dahlia sighs as her own widen and blacken as well.

When the process is complete, Dahlia begins to pant and twitch in a pain that is no longer physical, the movements elevating her heart rate and her bleeding.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Mistress!" Dahlia starts to unravel, her face twisted in exquisite remorse.  
  
Before she can be lost to pain and hysteria, the Mother Confessor speaks in a clear voice.  
  
"I forgive you Dahlia. Do you hear me?" Kahlan cups the dying woman's face. "I acknowledge all the wrongs you've done in your life, all wickedness, both by choice and not—and I _forgive_ you."  
  
"Thank you. Thank you Mistress, you are so kind, so kind..." Dahlia pants in relief and adoration.  
  
"Hush now," Kahlan says. "Try not to move. Just know that you are irreplaceable, important, worthy, and that yes, I do love you."  
  
She means every careful word. In this very moment in time, her forgiveness is complete, her magnanimity touching on the divine—she is _truly_ the Mother Confessor.  
  
"Please..." Dalia spouts more blood between her chattering teeth as her body starts shaking violently.

"I know that I am unworthy, but please Mistress, please kiss me."  
  
Kahlan slowly lowers her face to Dahlia's bloodied mouth, mourning the pitifully grateful look on Dahlia's face. She presses her lips to the Mord'sith's sullied ones—not caring that they are staining her own.

When Dahlia's body stops shaking Kahlan raises her face.

Dahlia is no longer.

 

Kahlan straightens her back, still cradling Dahlia's corpse. She looks toward Darken Rahl, her face devoid of expression.  
  
"Is she secured?"  
  
"Yes Mistress," Rahl replies.  
  
He has bound Cara's hands and feet together in a solid knot behind her back. His knee is pressed to Cara's face while he pushes Dahlia's Agiel to the back of Cara's neck.  
  
"Good. Will the other Mord'sith give me trouble?"  
  
"No. Their options are to continue to follow me, and therefore you, or to seek out Richard Rahl—in which case they know not to harm you as well."  
  
"Very well. I am leaving for a bit, stay here and keep her secure, use magic if need be. I want her alive when I'm back."  
  
"Yes Mistress, of course Mistress."  
  
Rahl bows. Kahlan opens the chamber doors and exits on shaky legs. She would rather not leave Cara with Rahl—ironically, Cara is still incredibly dangerous and might harm the confessed man—but she needs to make sure that Zedd is still alive and bring him here to help her solve this mess.

She refuses to think about Dahlia.

 

* * *

 

After shackling her with possibly every chain in the room, Darken Rahl has drawn a magical binding circle around Cara using Dahlia's blood.

The red and black weave has receded from Cara's face. She sits on the floor, smirking at him. He is seated on the floor as well, several paces away from her, eyeing her with a look of malicious curiosity.  
  
"So, do you intend to kill me or just make stupid faces?" Cara asks.  
  
Darken Rahl smirks and rises. He grabs a wicked knife from a table nearby and steps to the edge of the circle.  
  
"Ah-ah, you can't kill me, remember? Your Mistress would be displeased."  
  
"Oh but you forget, she did not forbid me from killing you," Darken Rahl replies conversationally. "She merely wants you alive when she returns. So maybe I will. Perhaps I will kill you and do unspeakable things to your body. All I'd need to do is order one of the Mord'sith still lurking in the tower to come and revive you. My Mistress would never know."  
  
"Darken Rahl, you wretched thing, not even confession can fix your monstrosity." Cara laughs as the web of red and black resurface on her face. Darken Rahl prepares to cross the circle he drew with an evil smirk.  
  
The door to the chamber bangs open. Darken backs away immediately.  
  
Zedd and Kahlan walk in.  
  
"Mistress." Darken Rahl bows to Kahlan, his hand holding the knife tucked behind his back.  
  
"Can we fix her?" Kahlan asks Zedd, completely ignoring Darken Rahl. She has found some rags to cover her nakedness instead of Rahl's vest; she takes the vest and uses it to cover Dahlia's body, sparing Darken Rahl an angry look when she sees the bloody binding circle.  
  
"I'm sorry Mistress, you disapprove?"  
  
"I do, but you had nothing else to use and we need Cara contained."  
  
"Thank you Mistress."  
  
Zedd looks at the confessed man with an unreadable look.  
  
"Darken, inform the rest of the Mord'sith in the tower that they are released from your rule and should now follow Richard, the true Lord Rahl. When you have done so you may return," the Wizard tells the former ruler of D'Hara.  
  
Darken looks to Kahlan for approval. When she nods curtly, he leaves to fulfill his orders.  
  
"Leave the dagger here," Zedd adds before the other man can leave the room. Darken freezes. Zedd stretches out his hand and Rahl turns back and places the dagger in his palm.  
  
"Of course." Darken bows to Kahlan and Zedd and finally leaves the room.  
  
Zedd frowns at the door before slowly turning around to stare at the heavily bound Cara, her face a shifting lattice of reds and blacks.  
  
"Is there any hope for her, Zedd?" Kahlan asks worriedly.  
  
"This is indeed a terrible mess. By all accounts, if the Keeper himself claims a person so completely, the predicament is irreversible, but—"  
  
He turns to Kahlan with a gentle smile.  
  
"Luckily, I believe the Keeper has, in fact,  _not_ claimed Cara as completely is he might think..."  
  
Zedd watches Kahlan's expressive face as she frowns, then raises her eyebrows in sudden understanding, and then scrunches her brow again—this time in an expression of unshakable resolution.  
  
"Tonight then," she informs the wizard. "Tonight I go up against the Keeper for Cara's soul."

 

* * *

 

The sunset is especially magnificent that evening.

On a quiet hill not far from the Mord'sith tower, beneath a sad oak tree, they bury Dahlia.  
  
Kahlan orders Darken Rahl to dig the grave, and Zedd recites the traditional prayers since Kahlan finds that she is too choked up to speak.

When the process is complete, Rahl and Zedd leave Kahlan to mourn in private as they walk back to the tower.  
  
Darken enters the building first and Zedd looks back at the direction from whence they came.  
  
"Are you coming Wizard? I think my Mistress wants to be alone."

Zedd turns to stare at the man gravely, his expression once again unreadable.

Darken Rahl stairs back, his face unnaturally blank, but he cannot maintain the expression forever and Zedd suddenly catches a glimpse of something wicked in the other man's eye.

They both scramble to lift their hands in a complex series of gestures but Zedd is quicker.

Darken Rahl freezes and stiffens as Zedd's magic binds him tightly.  
  
The old wizard walks slowly to the immobile man. From beneath the hem of his sleeve he reveals Cara's black Agiel. 

Rahl's eyes widen even more, his body shaking with the effort to move.

"Dahlia came to my cell earlier today with an inert Rada'han and a  _reminder_ that you once drank a potion that made you immune to confession," he tells Darken conversationally. 

"I've actually been working on a counter spell for a while now, though I haven't had the chance to test it properly."

Zedd circles Rahl slowly as he speaks.

"The girls thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for a trial run and so I infusing the fake Rada'han with my spell. An anti-Rada'han if you will. Very risky, I really wasn't sure if it would work properly."   
  
He completes his circle to once again deeply stare into the bound man's eyes.  
  
"Hmm, I still don't."  
  
And with that Zedd stabs Darken Rahl's throat with the blackened Agiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [simplesetgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplesetgo).


	16. XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing the last 2 episodes of Legend of the Seeker, can really help with understanding who some of the minor characters are, but it's not strictly necessary.

Zedd comes back from the tower with a magically bound Cara in tow. He moves her to stand against a thick tree and ties her to it, and when he is finished he starts drawing runes on the ground in front of her. He is nearly done when Kahlan appears, walking from the direction of Dahlia's grave.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
Kahlan doesn't answer, giving him one curt nod instead, her expression alert and somber. Determined.  
  
"I have set everything up: once you trigger the catalyst, my magic will throw your minds into a deep dream. I will watch over both of you from here, but the majority of the work is up to you."  
  
Kahlan nods again. "Alright, I'm ready. What's the catalyst?"  
  
"You must confess her, of course."  
  
Kahlan's stoic equanimity shatters as if she's been physically slapped, hard. Her chest tightens; her eyes grow glossy and bright with arrested tears. "Zedd," she exhales the name. "I just killed one fri... Mord...Ugh! You can't expect me to do it again so quickly!" She starts pacing.  
  
"You won't kill her, Kahlan, and the connection _must_ exist for the dream to be shared."  
  
Kahlan pauses her pacing and looks at Zedd pleadingly. "Isn't there another way?"  
  
"No."  
  
They stare at each other for a whole minute before Kahlan asks, "You are sure she won't die?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Kahlan, just—" Zedd rubs his forehead in exasperation. "The Seeker told me so."  
  
Kahlan blinks. "What? Richard? How is he connected to all this? He doesn't even know what's happened."  
  
" _Trust me_ , Richard knows that Cara won't die if you confess her."  
  
"What...I...what are you talking abouuu..." She lets the last syllable taper off as comprehension slowly elbows its way into her mind.  
  
"oh. Oh!" Kahlan's eyes grow wide with realization and she covers her mouth with both hands. "Oh, no."  
  
"Oh, yes."  
  
"Poor Richard."  
  
"Richard? Richard is a big boy, Kahlan, I believe he has already come to terms with...this. It's _your_ acceptance of the situation that interests me."  
  
Kahlan moves her fingertips up to her hairline.  
  
"I just want you to be happy..." She softly echoes Richard's words to herself in wonderment.  
  
"Are you?"  
  
Zedd's question snaps Kahlan out of her memory.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Happy. Does she make you happy, Kahlan?"  
  
"I..."  
  
Kahlan's eyes glaze but then focus. She takes a deep breath, crossing her arms, and closes her eyes, turning her gaze inward. For the first time since she started this quest she takes stock of how _she_ has grown, not Richard, not Cara, but her—Kahlan Amnell.  
  
Zedd waits patiently. The answer to his question had already been determined many months before; now all that's needed is for the last participant to accept it.  
  
_So much has changed, and so much hasn't_ , thinks Kahlan. Her core values are still the same: protect the innocent, judge fairly yet irenically, dispense kindness and compassion as much as possible, act with awareness.  
  
Good values, _a Mother Confessor's values_. They have never chafed her, they suit her personality.  
And yet, they were the values she used to _live by_ , weaved together by ancient and wise Confessors and set before her like a glowing white cloak, one that she wrapped around her shoulders, protective and pure, yet still external. She had ensconced herself in them, but never deliberated on them.  
  
Then she and Dennee were sent away from their home to act as plenipotentiary to Aydindril, to find the great wizard Zeddicus Zu'l Zorander. She lost her sister, she found the Seeker—and that was just the beginning.  
A process had begun, one of separation and rediscovery—a rebirth that used pain and loss, heartache, and lessons in humility as tools of its attrition. The hardships of the last couple of years had methodically unraveled her specious white cloak of virtues only for her to discover that beneath it all, her principles were still there, deeper, nestled safely in that place beyond her mind and logic. Sacrifice had lead to growth. Hope and faith were rekindled by friends, by strangers, sometimes even by enemies, until a small yet persistent inner flame had taken residence in her chest.  
  
Her heart had internalized her values, no longer seeing them as something separate and divine but as simple axioms, default statements to which she adheres to like instinct.  
And now, with experience, to the ranks of her core values are added: an appreciation of beauty in all its forms, a heightened awareness of life and its ephemeral nature, and—as recently as right now—an acceptance of the inevitability of love.  
  
Kahlan smiles. "Yes," she says as she opens her eyes.  
  
They look at each other, the Wizard and the Mother Confessor, both sensing a momentous moment washing over them, a feeling of rightness, of purpose, as if the universe is pleased that everything is on track.  
  
Said moment is shattered when Cara suddenly bursts into a malicious chuckle.  
  
"Fools, she's gone. There is nothing of her left in here," the thing inside Cara says with a double voice—one still sounding like Cara's, the other like death.  
  
"Oh, I know, Keeper," Kahlan answers calmly as she strides over to the bound woman. She grabs the thing's throat as her eyes turn black.  
  
"I'm here to set things right."  
  
Zedd sets flame to his runes.

 

* * *

 

The view is magnificent and terrible.  
  
Kahlan looks on from atop a hill. She is sitting astride Anvil, her white war horse—a colossal beast that in another lifetime would probably be employed for gentler tasks, like plowing fields or working a grain grinder. But these are dark times, war times, and she is glad to have him as her companion. She leans forward to pet his massive neck just as a light squall sweeps through her hair and brushes Anvil's mane, to then rustle through the hundreds upon hundreds of white war banners that are otherwise moving in the breeze like exotic water weeds shifting on gentle currents. Each long, triangular banner is affixed to a pole held by the soldiers steadily marching forward through the wide valley down bellow.  
  
This is her army. Her dream-self knows it instinctively, though even if she didn't their attire would be a dead giveaway.  
  
Each soldier is adorned with a gleaming suit of armor made of metal scales, silvery chainmail, and larger sculpted plates to protect the flatter areas of the body. The helmets support cheek and nose guards as well as two silvery metal wings protruding backwards above the ear area. Over the suit, each soldier wears a white tabard with the knotted symbol of Aydindril stitched in silver thread. The entire ensemble is cut in a way that is both flattering and severe. The suits are painfully shiny and the tabards meticulously clean, as if it is the first time their wearers have adorned them. Kahlan has a moment of vertigo is her mind tries to calculate the impossibility of any nation managing to acquire enough wealth to support such an expensive host.  
  
"Don't think, don't rationalize," the Wisp tells her as it floats to her right at eye level. "The connection is tenuous and dangerous as it is. Just _be_ , Kahlan."  
  
"So many..." Kahlan marvels as she concentrates back on the sea of white and silver moving before her.  
  
The throng of soldiers seems to have no end, marching forward from some hidden point behind her and onwards. They are arranged in tight square formations, twenty heads to a platoon with a banner-man to the front and left. She can make out about twenty platoons marching side by side in every row, their steady steps completely synchronized.  
  
In the beginning Kahlan hadn't recognize the sound; she thought it might be a product of the beautiful yet odd weather overcasting the field—grayish blue clouds, ominous and eerie, that contrast with dramatic shafts of golden sunlight piercing their way through—but after a few minutes of watching her host move below her it finally clicks in her head that what she is hearing is the sound of thousands upon thousands of feet walking steadily in union.

All at once, they open their mouths in a harmonious paean of baritones.  
  
"All hail the white and noble!  
All sing for the beauty and the might!  
We fight for the ever shifting, the mist and river!  
We fight for the queen of light!"  
  
The choir of thousands finishes. Kahlan's forearms prickle with goosebumps as she scrunches her eyebrows.  
  
"This was never supposed to be about me. I am not _the Seeker_."  
  
"This became very much about you the minute the Creator revealed in prophesy that your life is the sole variable to determine success or defeat for the Keeper," the Wisp says. "The Seeker's job, as always, is to seek out truth and in this manner he _is_ connected to this quest, but it is not his anymore. Richard completed his destiny when he defeated Darken Rahl; alas, in doing so he managed to break one of the most paramount rules of Wizardry: the noblest of intentions may lead to catastrophe—mortal actions always draw consequences."  
  
"Then what's the point? Won't I just do the same? Won't my actions just bring about a greater evil?"  
  
"No. You are not motivated by intention, neither good nor evil."  
  
"Oh? Then why am I doing this? No, wait, don't tell me. Let me guess: Love." Kahlan honestly surprised herself when the answer comes out of her mouth without the slightest inflection of sarcasm.  
  
"Ah, thank you, it's about time. You two are unbelievably contrary," the wisp sighs in relief. "Don't look so surprised," it adds after Kahlan gives it a glare. "The whole point of dreams is to have a place where you can't lie to yourself."  
  
"But this is not a regular dream; it's not even mine anymore, is it? It's Cara's as well, and by extension, the Keeper's."  
  
"Yes, and us as well. We are here to help you."  
  
" _Us_...you mean the soldiers? They are wisps?"  
  
"Some of them; others might join or might already be here. And yet, for the most part the soldiers are a direct aspect of you—you have much to lose, Kahlan. What happens here will directly affect you in the ontic world. Be very careful."  
  
"I will."  
  
And with that Kahlan spurs Anvil on, prompting the white horse to thunder down the hill. Once again the soldiers open their mouths in extolment:  
  
"All hail the white and noble..."  
  
Time moves strangely in dreams—it took Kahlan both ages and no time at all to reach the front of her army. She and Anvil passed platoon after platoon of marching men; they pass the cavalry and the knights all seated on white steeds; they ride by war machines: beautifully crafted rams and ballistas, catapults and mobile towers; they ride past more exotic units: soldiers seated on griffons—earthbound for now—each carrying a banner tipped lance; hosts of dark cloaked creatures comprised of mist wielding wickedly curved scimitars; wyvern riders laden with arrows and spears; noble bear creatures; centaurs; sleek dire-wolves; beings comprised of light, of fire, of water or trees.  
  
And still she rides until she reaches the front of her army, once more comprised of foot soldiers. These have the addition of an ornamented white horn added to their arsenal. As she passes them, they bring their instruments to their lips as one and let loose a deep blast that shakes the very earth. Like a physical wave, the sound shimmers forward in front of the army, announcing to all its inevitable arrival.  
  
Kahlan watches as the sound wave spreads forward like a puddle in a lake, flattening the grass as it moves above the plain. She lifts her eyes from the ground to look into the distance, seeing the storming horizon filled with raging black clouds spewing lightning bolts and green fire at the ground below.

 

* * *  


Richard is halfway to the Pillars of Creation with the Stone of Tears when a huge crack splits the sandy ground in front of him and nearly swallows him in its greenish flames. To make matters worse he can see a trio of Mord'sith riding towards him. He pulls the Sword of Truth out of its scabbard and makes ready for battle. To his surprise, instead of trampling him over, the riders dismount a few feet from him and kneel down.  
  
"Uh, okay," he murmurs to himself, sheathing his sword and walking up to a severe looking brunette that looks to be the leader. He taps her on the shoulder.  
  
"Please don't kneel—I don't have time for this. I'm guessing by the lack of hostility that you are here to help, so let me put it simply: I need to go around this chasm. You can fill me in on your change of sides along the way."  
  
"Yes, Master Rahl," the Mord'sith says as she and her sisters stand and move to get back on the horses.  
  
"And don't call me that."  
  
"Yes, Master Rahl."  


* * *

 

Zedd's stomach drops as he sees the red and black weave spread from Cara's face to her throat, and then across to Kahlan's clutching hand. They are both deep in sleep even if their eyes are open and their postures rigidly upright—his spell made sure of that—but other than that, Zedd is in the dark.  
  
"Spirits, Kahlan. Be careful."

 

* * *

 

The battle is about to start, Kahlan's army has reached the end of the grassy plain. From here on forward the ground is comprised of dark broken rock, jagged, unrelenting, and speckled with geysers spewing green fire. Above them the tempest rages and thunders as if it is a living being tasked with heralding the coming battle.  
  
In the distance Kahlan spots a twisting mass of grotesquely naked bodies looking and moving like worms freshly dug out of soil. The swarm is easily ten times larger than her forces. She watches as they make their way towards her, running and limping, screaming and frothing, clawing at each other as they dash madly over the splintered ground.  
  
Kahlan tries to swallow past the painful knot of fear that has been steadily hardening at the top of her throat; her stomach feels empty and acidic. She observes her own troops as they form up in anticipation of the oncoming onslaught.  
  
"He is going to keep throwing the dead at us until you tire, Confessor," the wisp tells her, appearing once again to her right.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You are strong, but he is endless."  
  
"I _know_."  
  
"How do you intend to succeed?"  
  
Kahlan breathes in slow and deep through her nose.  
  
"Like I always do: with gumption and the help of my friends." She suddenly spurs Anvil with her heels and throws the Wisp a grim grin. "Cover me!"  
  
Kahlan charges forward with doughty abandon. Behind her the army forms into a great arrowhead that fans to both her sides. They hurtle forward in a head-on collision course with the mass of writhing bodies. When they reach the first lines of the Keeper's swarm the clash is so violent that some of the Keeper's minions are literally sent flying backwards from the impact alone. Kahlan doesn't slow down; she hacks left and right from her position atop Anvil with her shining sword. The Keeper's army is split in two as Kahlan's host forces its way into their midst.  
  
"This is suicide!" The wisp is flying to her side at face level, dodging and swooping around the incoming enemy as she and Anvil make their way forward at break-neck speed.  
  
"No, this is _my dream_ ," Kahlan shouts back. "Or at least a part of it," she grunts while twisting the remnants of a misshapen beast off the end of her sword.  
  
"I don't understand! Soon the Keeper's forces will close in on us from behind and we will be surrounded!"  
  
"Yes, won't he feel smug," Kahlan agrees with gritted teeth as she lobs off a minion's head, accidentally sending it flying towards the Wisp, who dodges the gruesome projectile at the last moment.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Forget about that, it is clear that you have a plan, or at least a thought. What can we do to help?"  
  
"Distract him, distract the Keeper. Make him think we're winning, make him think we're losing, I don't care—just make sure his eye is on the battle. He is a god; I'm banking on the fact that he's so very used to everything happening according to his rules that he has forgotten this realm is mine to shape as well. I need to find Cara, and I need to find her before he realizes that she's here as well."  
  
"Very well Mother Confessor. Spirits be with you."  
  
The Wisp transforms before her eyes, growing and reshaping until it resembles a shimmering female figure on a white horse. It takes her place at the head of the army as they continue to hack their way forward. Anvil has not ceased his galloping, in fact Kahlan finds herself frantically clinging to the steed's sweaty neck as it suddenly lurches violently and, with a mighty leap, takes up into the air. Kahlan clutches her horse's mane with white knuckles and opens one eye. Anvil's legs are still pounding furiously below him, only now there is almost a mile of distance between her and the ground.  
  
"Don't rationalize, just be," she chants to herself, steadfastly trying to avoid pondering why her horse is suddenly volacious.  
  
She chances a glance at the battle below. Her army looks like a thin white triangle surrounded by sickly green. They will not last long—she needs to hurry. She squints her eyes against the wind and searches elsewhere.  
  
"Come on, Kahlan, think!"  
  
A sparkle at the corner of her eye catches her attention; far off to the west she spots an odd little shape at the boundary where the grassy plains meet the Keeper's tortured rocks.  
  
"There," she tells Anvil. The horse picks up the pace and swoops down in a stomach-flipping maneuver that angles them towards what appears to be a small wooden structure situated next to a river.

 

* * *

 

Cara's long golden locks are frivolously flowing down her back and generally getting in her way. She looks to be laboring mightily over pulling a bucket of water from a well. Most notably though is her girly pink dress.  
  
Kahlan stares in amazement as she quietly dismounts Anvil. "Don't rationalize, just be, don't rationalize, just be..." she mumbles under her breath.  
  
Cara obviously hears the quiet murmur because she gives a startled jump, letting go of the rope, and turns towards the sound. Her eyes are wide and she breathes heavily.  
  
"Uh..." Kahlan is caught with nothing to say.  
  
Cara is still puffing, her hands on her waist and her posture slightly bent forward. "You really shouldn't sneak up on someone like that."  
  
"I didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry." Kahlan stays next to Anvil and fidgets.  
  
Cara eyes Kahlan suspiciously but then relents. "Well, come on then, you can help prepare the kids for dinner," she informs the startles Kahlan.  
  
From inside the cabin the raucous noise of little children is suddenly heard. Kahlan's eyes go wide as they snap towards the house. Yes, the high-pitched sounds definitely belong to children, and rambunctious ones by the din of it.  
  
Kahlan brings her gaze back to Cara but the other woman has already turned around and walking towards to the cabin. Kahlan moves to follow, but is stopped when Anvil manages to catch one of her sleeves between his teeth.  
  
"Don't worry, my friend, I'll be careful," she tells him, stroking the wide bridge of his nose. He does not look convinced, at least as far as horses go, but reluctantly releases the garment.  
  
The cabin's interior is unremarkable, Kahlan notes. Just about the only thing of interest—besides the sight of Cara voluntarily preparing food—are the two children squabbling violently by the fire place. The boy is screaming while he pulls on the little girl's hair while she, in turn, is biting his calf.  
  
"Children!" Cara turns around to scold the two. "Enough! Take your seats, dinner is almost ready," she huffs.  
  
They rush to settle around the small kitchen table and Kahlan is excited to recognize the little girl to be Moppet, but before she gets the chance to greet her little friend, the boy opens his mouth and says, "You're a Confessor, aren't you? Only Confessors wear those dresses."  
  
"Yes," Kahlan says as she more calmly takes her seat. Cara joins in last.  
  
"What's your name?" he asks between mouthfuls of food, eating like an animal.  
  
Kahlan opens her mouth to answer, but Moppet's wide eyes and covert, if vigorous, little head-shake stops her.  
  
"I...Dennee, my name is Dennee," she lies.  
  
"Huh," the boy says between stuffing his mouth, his attention still mostly focused on his food. "Funny, I also know a Confessor named Dennee."  
  
Kahlan narrows her eyes. "What's _your_ name then?" she asks him.  
  
He looks up with a too-innocent smile. "My name's Declan."

 

* * *

 

They stop by a sacked city. Richard would rather hurry on and ride through to the Pillars but the horses need to drink and he is hoping to find a water source between the wreckage.  
  
He dismounts and sends Garren and her sisters off to scavenge.

 

* * *

 

Kahlan clenches her jaw as she stares at the child.  
  
"How do you know Cara?" she asks. Not waiting for the boy's answer, she turns her gaze to the woman in question.  
  
"We're old friends," Declan replies and turns to look at the oblivious woman as well. Cara is calmly eating her dinner, ignoring the conversation and the rest of the table's occupants as if she were deaf.  
  
Suddenly Declan looks up and freezes, ears perking as if he were a dog hearing a noise in a frequency only he can perceive.  
  
"I need to go," he informs them absentmindedly.  
  
Kahlan looks on quizzically as, with no further preamble, the boy Declan rushes out the door.

 

* * *

 

Richard is in the midst of searching through a house when he hears a shuffling behind some fallen rubble. He quickly unsheathes his sword and cautiously steps closer.  
He jumps a bit when a flash of movement catches his eye. The thing is too big to be an animal but too small to be a danger—a child, then. Richard lowers his sword. He looks through a gash in the wooden wall and sees a small boy trembling on the floor.  
  
"It's all right, I'm not going to hurt you," he says in his most calming voice.  
  
"You're one of them!" the boy accuses between frightened pants.  
  
"One of who?" asks Richard.  
  
"Banelings!" the child cries.  
  
"No I'm not a baneling," Richard says, moving closer slowly. "I'm the Seeker. Look, the Sword of Truth. My name is Richard, what's yours?"  
  
The boy eyes him warily. "Declan," he says and sniffs.

 

* * *

 

The minute the boy is gone, Moppet grabs Kahlan's forearm and drags her outside. She lets go of Kahlan's hand when they near the well and starts tinkering with the pulley situated above it.  
  
While she does that Anvil slowly trots over to Kahlan. "Ugh, what a mess," she whispers to the horse as she leans on him heavily. "I need Cara but she seems to be split in two: one half blissfully daft and the other half a child. What am I going to do?"  
  
"Fix her," Moppet tells her gravely, staring at her with a steady gaze from across the well.  
  
"Sorry Moppet, you were not supposed to hear that," Kahlan says, smiling her apology.  
  
"Fix her," the child repeats and tugs on the edge of the rope, whose other end seems to be tied to something deep inside the well.  
  
Kahlan frowns and walks over to Moppet. "You need help?" she asks. The child nods.  
  
Kahlan wraps the rope around her forearm and starts pulling, but whatever is in the well is unbelievably heavy. She takes a deep breath and puts her back into it, slowly walking backwards while clutching the rope tightly—it's no use. Whatever it is, it weighs more than a man. She looks over to her steed.  
  
"Anvil?" She swears she can see him narrowing his eyes at her. "Come on boy, time to prove your good breeding. This calls for a draft-horse."  
  
Anvil shakes his mane at her and neighs.  
  
"Yes, yes. Sometimes you're a warhorse and sometimes you're a jument. Now come on and help me."  
  
They struggle over the well for a good half-mark; Anvil and Kahlan draw the rope up while Moppet excitedly hops back and forth between looking down the well, helping them pull, and generally getting between Anvil's legs. Kahlan vows to give him a treat when this is over for his patience with the child, if nothing else.  
  
"Spirits Cara, you must have been a handful when you were little," she murmurs to herself as she watches Moppet balance her knees on the ledge while peering down into the depths. "Still are," she snorts.  
  
"It's here!" The child looks up excitedly.  
  
Kahlan walks over to see a small, delicately ornamented wooden box tied to the end of the rope. Yellowish-orange light emanates from between its cracks, and the closer Kahlan gets to it, the louder the whine it gives off until she has to cover her ears.  
  
"Moppet, get away from there! That thing sounds like an Agiel!"  
  
Kahlan swiftly nudges the box so that Anvil can lower it outside the well, then she grabs Moppet around the waist and hauls her away, setting her down only when they are next to the cabin. Kahlan kneels down on one knee so she is at eye level with her young charge. The minute she does so, Moppet puts her hands on Kahlan's cheeks.  
  
"She needs it," says the child. "She needs it to come back."  
  
"Moppet, what's inside that box?"  
  
"Pain."  
  
Kahlan closes her eyes; she can feel Moppet's small, cool hands cupping her face. From inside the cabin she can hear the other Cara tinkering around her kitchen.  
  
"So this is what Cara would be like if she was not taken by the Mord'sith." Kahlan opens her eyes. "I don't know if I can do that to her, give it all back."  
  
Moppet frowns in confusion and shakes her head a little bit. "No, Kahlan—" She looks harder into Kahlan's eyes as if trying to compel the older woman's understanding. "This is Cara without pain at all. Has nothing to do with Mord'sith."  
  
Kahlan lifts her eyebrows in surprise.  
  
"She needs it," Moppet repeats. "Pain is what connects things to reality. She is frozen here, in your haven."  
  
Kahlan tries to contemplate Moppet's words on many different levels, but she can't seem to manage to wrap her head around it. So she gives up and tucks the thought away for a later time.  
  
"Are you sure about this?"  
  
Moppet nods.  
  
Kahlan takes a deep breath and rises. The box has been left tipped on its side and slightly wet next to the well. Kahlan walks over to it and picks it up. It is no longer heavy. She is drying it with her sleeve just as the older Cara steps out of the cabin with some gardening tools.  
  
Kahlan watches her as she kneels next to some potted plants and starts tending to them.  
  
"Cara, I have something for you," Kahlan calls to her.  
  
Cara turns around and rises, she fidgets a bit but then walks over to Kahlan.  
  
"It's beautiful," she says when she's close enough to trace the carvings of the box. Cara seems upset; she bends her head down and then away, looking like she's trying to hold back tears. Kahlan gently takes her hand and puts the box in it.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" Kahlan asks.  
  
"Yes," Cara answers demurely.  
  
"You don't have to, if you don't want to."  
  
Cara looks up at Kahlan. "Yes, yes I do." She then looks down and opens the lid.

 

* * *

 

Zedd doesn't know what to do with himself.  
  
A few moments ago Kahlan whipped her head back and started screaming the most horrifying, pain-filled cry he had ever heard in his considerably long and worldly life. If he hadn't noticed the red and black mesh receding as well he would have put a stop to the whole deal immediately. As it is, he does not know if waking Kahlan would be a good thing or not.  
  
So he waits, and prays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: [sos10](http://sos10.livejournal.com/)


	17. XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for this one you kind'a do need to see they LoTS final to get all the characters.

"Cara?" Kahlan asks tentatively from her perch kneeling over the prone woman.  
  
An unamused grunt is heard, sounding more irritated than in pain.  
  
"Yes, that is my name."  
  
"Oh thank the Spirits!" Kahlan exclaims and throws her arms around Cara's shoulders.  
  
"Calm down Confessor, or I might still die from your excessive jubilation."  
  
Cara's halfhearted grumble sounds muffled due to her head being squished into the crook of Kahlan's neck.  
  
"Cara," Kahlan says.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Cara grins.  
  
A moment passes; Cara can feel Kahlan's arms slowly relaxing from their death grip. When she has fully relaxed, Kahlan pulls Cara's head from under her chin and firmly holds the other woman's face just inches before her own. She stares deeply into Cara's eyes.  
  
Cara fidgets under Kahlan's scrutiny and tries to avoid the sudden sense of vulnerability by assessing herself. She is still sitting on some sort of grassy ground with her legs splayed out before her and her hands lying limply in her lap. Her upper body—formally prone—is held uncomfortably stuff and upright, positioned this way not so much by Kahlan's warm and gentle palms, but by her own need to stay in contact with said hands. Never before has her face fit so perfectly into a place, never before has _she_ fitted so comfortably; like a puzzle-piece, like a glove. She is loath to move despite the kink forming in her lower back.  
  
"I'm going to kiss you now." Kahlan's soft voice jolts Cara from her musings. The assertion is put forth with an air of profound graveness and sobriety, causing Kahlan's brow to crinkle adorably and her chin to jut out in determination.  
  
The expression is just so very Kahlan. Cara can't help the sudden rush of warmth in her chest—a warmth so alien, so...happy. She wants to laugh in adoring delight, to stroke Kahlan's cheeks, to tell her what a magnificently wonderful person she is. But she is Mord-Sith and is utterly unequipped to handle such foreign and overwhelming impulses.  
So she tries to wait it out, the purposeless energy causing her hands to shake and her chest to tingle. It does not fade.  
  
"Okay." She finally croaks.  
  
Kahlan closes the distance. Cara closes her eyes.  
  
Kahlan's kiss is a revelation. Cara feels as if the skin of her face is being peeled from the lips backwards to reveal a cleaner, purer version of herself. At the same time she feels as if millions upon millions of ants are racing in lines over her skin, both burning and freezing where they touch, causing goose bumps to blossom in their wake—she senses them converging in specific areas, like the top of her crown, under her hair, under her fingernails, her nipples, her spine, her knees, her toes—making them curl with pleasure. Her inside self—her very soul—is out of sync with her body and is vibrating so very fast, like a frantic humming-bird, like sunlight over quick moving water. She is hyperventilating, and Kahlan has done nothing more than touch their lips together.  
  
"Breath Cara," Kahlan murmurs against her lips, the minute movement sending violent shivers down Cara's back.  
  
"I can't," Cara pants as she grabs Kahlan around the waist and hauls them both down to lie on the grass, Cara on her back once again, and Kahlan half on top of her with her head tucked under Cara's chin.  
  
They stay like that for a while, Kahlan softly petting Cara's chest in an attempt to quite the hammering heart that lies beneath, and Cara staring up at the sky in a daze.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I kiss, Cara."  
  
"That was not a kiss. Trust me, I've kissed many people in my life and I've never, had...never, it's... I've never had such a reaction."  
  
Kahlan seems to contemplate the statement for a while; she then slowly rises to her elbow to look down at the other woman.  
  
"What?" the blonde asks defensively.  
  
"Cara."  
  
"Yeeees?" Cara prompts after a moment passes without Kahlan continuing.  
  
Kahlan sighs. "Cara, bless you, you are the most resourceful and dangerous person I know," she starts. "I think a lot of that has to do with your quick wits, your intuitive understanding of complex ideas, your ability to see the bigger picture, prioritize what's important, and to do all that quickly, efficiently, and correctly."  
  
"I...well," Cara coughs. "Thank you...Kahlan. And, you know, I pretty much think the same about you. You are a worthy warrior."  
  
"Alright, so we've established that." Kahlan gives a satisfied little nod. "So now let me throw that unrelenting brain of yours something to play with, something that has been embarrassingly obvious to, what seems like, the entirety of creation. Technically, us included..."  
  
Kahlan's free hand sneaks over to start fidgeting with the flap that makes up the opening at Cara's cleavage; long fingers scratching and playing with red leather. She does not seem to notice that she is doing so.  
  
Cara swallows painfully.  
  
"It's just that-" Kahlan continues. "Well, apparently—and amazingly, at least according to Zedd—we've both managed to develop an acute case of willful stubborn blindness."  
  
Kahlan does not seem to be able to meet Cara's eyes, instead gazing blindly at her own hand.  
  
"-Or maybe just a sort of cowardice." the Mother Confessor finishes softly.  
  
"Kahlan," Cara puts her hand over Kahlan's wandering fingers. "Go on, what is it?"  
  
"All right," Kahlan looks up. "So here goes," She squirms, clears her throat, and takes a deep breath.  
  
"Cara," Kahlan turns her hand in Cara's grip and laces their fingers together. "I am in love with you. Utterly, profoundly, irreversibly, romantically, spiritually, sexually." She squeezes the palm in her hand. "So There."  
  
Cara blinks.  
  
"I just wanted to make that _really_ clear," Kahlan adds.  
  
When no other response comes forth from the blond, Kahlan lowers her head back to Cara's shoulder.  
  
"Yeah," Cara's chest deflates in an enormous sigh. "You're right; I've kind of known this for a while." She raises her free hand to rub her forehead. "This is actually very stupid."  
  
"It's not our brightest moment, no," Kahlan agrees, "but I don't think it's _that_ bad."  
  
"Richard got it before us."  
  
"Okay, it is that bad."  
  
"It's kind of anti-climactic, now that it's all splayed out before me," Cara adds as an afterthought.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't call that kiss anti-climactic."  
  
Cara can feel Kahlan's smirk. "No, I wouldn't either," she relents with her own grin.  
  
Kahlan rises to her elbow again, her smirk having developed into a full blown leer.  
  
"You are much too pleased with yourself, Confessor." Cara growls as she raises her hand to the back of Kahlan's head, tangling her fingers in the lustrous locks and pulling Kahlan's face down for another kiss.  
  
It happens again, lighting scattering over her skin and ice water rushing down her spine—this time accompanied by a distinctly wet burn that settles pleasantly and heavy between her legs.  
  
Cara pulls back a bit and mumbles, "Kahlan, I love you too." Her hand tightens painfully in Kahlan's hair.  
  
Kahlan ushers a groan from the deepest fathoms of her chest, and Cara thinks she's never heard anything so utterly sexual in the entirety of her well experienced life.  
  
"Are you done yet?"  
  
The young voice is like a bucket of ice water. Caught, Cara and Kahlan turn their heads to the side to see Moppet sitting on the edge of the well, hands crossed, legs swinging, with a glare conveying the utmost boredom and displeasure.  
  
"Moppet?" Cara asks in amazement. Her entire body tenses underneath Kahlan and she turns to look at the woman above her. "Kahlan, where exactly are we?"

 

* * *

 

Declan and the Mord'sith have been covertly glaring at each other over his back for the last hour. They think he hasn't noticed.  
  
Richard sighs. "Okay guys." He pulls his horse to a stop; he has been walking beside it and letting Declan rest. "Let's take a break."  
  
Garren looks miffed. "That is not advisable Lord Rahl-"  
  
"Richard."  
  
"-Lord Richard. The pillars are close and we are being followed."  
  
"What? Where?" Declan exclaims angrily, and then quiets downs as if realizing that his outburst is strange.  
  
Garren narrows her eyes at the child, Richard pats his leg reassuringly.  
  
"Don't worry Declan; these Mord'sith might be extra-cranky today," Richard throws his own reproachful glair at the lot of them. "But they're also excellent protectors."  
  
This seems to somewhat appease his guardians and they quickly dismount and pass around the water skins. Declan remains on the horse.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" Richard hisses at Garren once he is close enough to talk to her without the rest overhearing. "I know that women tend to sync their cycles given enough time together, and the thought of a pack of cramping Mord'sith is truly terrifying—but this is ridicules! Would you guys tone it down? He is a terrified child, a _child_ Garren, and one that has just lost everything and everyone he has ever loved. If you can't show any compassion, at least show some respect."  
  
Garren's face flushes angrily and the veins at her temple bulge. "Pardon me Lord Richard, but he is an oddity and more importantly—an unknown, even more so than our pursuer."  
  
This seems to give Richard pause. "About that, who's after us?"  
  
"I magic user, and a powerful one. I recognized her...pattern."  
  
Richard lifts his eyebrows in question.  
  
Garren caresses her Agiel before she answers,  
  
"Nicci."

 

* * *

 

Cara's hands are gripping Kahlan's shoulders painfully.  
  
"Cara, you're hurting me."  
  
"Kahlan!" Cara gives her a little shake. "Where are we?"  
  
Kahlan looks to the horizons, first west and then east. And now Cara notices the cabin, the massive horse, the well, and the storms—one beautiful and one sickly green.  
  
"That's actually a bit difficult to answer," Kahlan murmurs distractedly. "It seems we're about halfway from me to you. Or rather Him, as the case may be."  
  
"What?" Cara rises to her feet and helps Kahlan up.  
  
Kahlan brushes the grass from her knees as she looks at Moppet. "I thought you wouldn't be here, I thought she would be fixed."  
  
"Fixed?" Cara asks, her voice taking a turn towards the low and dangerous.  
  
"She has been," Moppet says as she hopes off the well's edge. "The real Cara has been returned and is currently present and accounted for. Good job Kahlan."  
  
The child smiles at a bewildered Cara and gives her a little wave; she then turns back to Kahlan. "Now you need to evict the interloper."  
  
"Interloper." Cara repeats, trying to eke out and explanation and sounding even more frustrated.  
  
"Then how come she's still fragmented? How come you're still here?" Kahlan asks.  
  
"Oh, I'm not a part of Cara," Moppet says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm a part of you now."  
  
Moppets walks over and wraps her hands around Kahlan waist, turning her little head up to smile at the older woman. Kahlan's hands reflexively reach out to pet the Child's hair.  
  
"When did this happen?" Cara asks. Kahlan turns to her, finally noticing the other woman's incensed disposition.  
  
"It's kind of complicated," Moppet tells Cara, her cheek pressed to Kahlan's stomach. "I can explain later but you two really need to take care of the Keeper, he is very agitated."  
  
As if to reaffirm Moppets words, far in the distance, emerald fire spews forth from the storm.  
  
Kahlan turns from the view to look at Cara.  
  
" _Keeper_." the blond deadpans.  
  
"It's a long story."

 

* * *

 

They are almost at the pillars; Richard can see the rock formation in the distance.  
  
"Mistress!" one of the Mord'sith shouts.  
  
"I know!" Garren yells back and dismounts.  
  
She runs towards Richard and tackles him to the ground while her two companions take defensive positions around them with their hands stretched out before them.  
  
"What's going on?" Richard shouts while trying to move Garren off of him.  
  
"Something is coming. Magic!"  
  
"Protect Declan! Protect the boy!" Richard struggles.  
  
Garren puts him in a head-lock while at the same time covering as much of his body with her own.  
  
Richard manages to spot Declan despite the odd angle of his head; the boy is looking around intently from his perch atop the horse. He is about to shout at him to take cover when a moving curtain of glitter catches his eye. The two other Mord'sith tense up.  
  
It rushes at them with a high pitches whistle. Glass, Richard realizes as the first few shards slice at them, like scouts before the swarm. A haze of needle-sharp fragments of glass, flying through the air.  
  
The two standing Mord'sith stop a few of the projectiles while other manage to cut through them. The glass seems to favor attacking the face.  
  
A few more seconds and the main body of it will be upon us, Richard thinks. This is ruthless magic: clean, simple, focused, and deadly. He wonders how they're going to survive the next few seconds without their skin being sanded off their bones.  
  
"Think of it as a single being!" Garren shouts at her sisters. "You can't stop every single shard, think of it as a hive!"  
  
Richard yells and closes his eyes tightly as the cloud reaches them with a terrible wailing, the sound reaching a crescendo as it hits the two defending Mord'sith.  
  
One of the Sisters flies backwards, a trail of blood arching in her wake. However, the other one manages to hold her stance, going down to one knee as the assault persists. Eventually though, the entire cloud is spent and the kneeling Mord'sith tumbles sidewise, her face a bloody mess.  
  
The silence after the attack makes Richard's ears ring, he touches them fully expecting to feel blood but there is nothing there. Garren gets off of him and rushes to her injured Sisters. Richard turns to look at Declan, the boy is unharmed.  
  
Huh, I guess the attack was meant to target me alone. Still, he's awfully quiet. "Declan, are you all right?"  
  
"Someone is trying to kill you," the boy hisses.  
  
"That is not surprising, in fact I want you to stay here. The Pillars are no place for a little boy." Richard turns to the Mord'sith. "Garren?"  
  
"Lord Richard," she looks up at him from her fallen Sister.  
  
"How are they?"  
  
"Talla is dead, Mika is functional but will slow us down," Garren informs.  
  
"Forgive me Lord Rahl," the bloodied Mord'sith pleads from between clenched teeth.  
  
"No, Mika, you have not failed me. In fact, this is actually perfect; take Declan and hide-"  
  
"What?" the boy exclaims.  
  
"-while we continue on." Richard walks over to his horse and pulls the child down from it.  
  
"No Richard, I want to stay with you," Declan pleads, his voice growing childish and high pitched. "Don't leave me with her!" he whines.  
  
"Declan, I'm not arguing with you. Do as you're told!"  
  
Declan eyes flash wide with a seething sort of anger before quickly narrowing down into calculating little slits. He does not voice any more protests.  
  
"Good boy," Richard pets his head.

 

* * *  


Kahlan had given her a quick and dirty rundown of the situation. It was obvious that the Mother Confessor was leaving out major details, but that was neither here nor there, and they were on a time limit.  
  
Cara wonders where Richard is and how badly the real world is suffering, seeing as how the raging green storm they are riding towards—which Cara figures is some sort of indication as to the Keeper's mood—had gotten uglier by the second.  
  
Riding through a storm on an imaginary flying horse, Cara thinks. _I haven't done that since I was seven_. She would have teased Kahlan about it if the situation wasn't so very dire.  
  
Kahlan's eyes had developed a sunken look; dark circles forming bellow them to contrast sharply with the blue brightness of her irises. Cara can feel sweat dampening Kahlan's white Confessor robes as she wrapped her arms more securely around the brunette's waist; it had gotten worse the closer they had ridden into the eye of the storm.  
  
Cara takes a peek at the view below from her perch behind Kahlan. Anvil's fast moving legs and rippling muscles obscure the view a bit, but there is no doubt that their side is losing.

Kahlan is losing.

She gives a quick squeeze to the other woman's waist in as a gesture of reassurance as well as a waking jolt since Kahlan's head had started lolling sideways. She's losing consciousness.  
  
"Hang on Kahlan, we're almost there!" she tries to yell over the sound of the rushing wind and crackling thunder; but Kahlan's whole body starts tilting to the left.  
  
"Kahlan! Wake up! I don't know what will happen to you if you plummet to your death in a dream, but it can't be good!"  
  
She grabs Kahlan more securely and spurs Anvil with her heels. The eye of the storm looks a bit like a real iris: wide and seething, a shifting display of green light and dancing electricity contained in a massive round orb, its center a pure darkness.  
  
Even though they are flying, Anvil manages to give the impression of a mighty leap before they crash through the emerald inferno.

 

* * *

 

"The time is over to rely on prophesy, soon the Seeker will hand me the Stone of Tears, whether it be by his willing hands or his cold dead ones—I do not care!"  
  
The double voice echoes in the night.  
  
"Master I am overjoyed to hear it," says Sister Marianna as she pulls her bloodied Dacra from Mika's chest. She spits on the dead woman's body; even weakened and outnumbered, the damned Mord'sith was able to kill two of her lackeys before being overwhelmed.  
  
"-But what of the second prophecy? As long as the Mother Confessor's pure heart beats, you cannot win."  
  
Declan lifts a rucksack, his mind already focused on Richard Cypher. "Then it will be your task to stop her heart, I have more important things to attend to."  
  
"Gladly Master," Sister Marianna breathes out in excitement, the zeal in her eye adding a new level of craze to her look.  
  
"Now go; and leave me your Sisters," Declan commands. "Meet us at the Pillars of Creation once you've completed your task."  
  
"As you wish, Master."  
  
Sister Marianna shuffles off and Declan turns to the large host of red-clad women that had stayed behind.  
  
" 'Good boy' indeed," he sneers to himself.

 

* * *

 

Zedd starts casting holding incantations the minute the white runes around Cara and Kahlan turn green, but to no avail. The air inside his magic circle starts shimmering wildly as the immediate world around him seems to be both drawn-to and repelled from the two women.  
  
Zedd has only a second to decide. He leaps towards the green barrier.  
  
With a large sucking noise, the runes, the flames, the Wizard, and the two women disappear.

 

* * *

 

Only to reaper on a sandy beach just below the Pillars of Creation.  
  
Cara and Kahlan tumble to the ground.  
  
"Bags!" Zedd yells as he rushes to his fallen friends.  
  
Cara looks relatively unharmed, but Kahlan looks dreadful. He gently pries her eye open with the pad of his thumb but a shadow falls over him, blocking the sun.  
  
He looks over his shoulder to glimpse at the most enormous white horse he has ever seen.


End file.
